


Unveiled

by theobliviouswriter



Series: Cause You're My Favorite Hue [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Color AU, M/M, Modern AU, So i was gonna publish this, anyway, i can't, it's not good enough, nah, not a lams knock off, so it's stuck in fanfic hell, sorry in advance, the original color fic, unless some company sees it here and is like ayyyyy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-16 10:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theobliviouswriter/pseuds/theobliviouswriter
Summary: As far as anyone knows, color is nothing but a fairy tale that only occurs when soulmates touch for the first time. After having a run-in with his worst enemy, Alexander Hamilton's world turns upside down. A lot is on the line. He has a wife and children and now his world is filled with the beauty of color all thanks to the man he hates. What is he to do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exadorlion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exadorlion/gifts).



> A big thanks to Mariane aka Exdorlion. Their artwork was what inspired this story and it couldn't be told without them. 
> 
> Also, ignore my summary I suck at them. 
> 
> Love you all!!
> 
> -Maddie

_Amber eyes reflected the afternoon sunlight in a charming and uncertain way. They gleamed with new hope and excitement as they stared at the man who had just reached out and grasped his arm; but to Joshua’s surprise, Alan’s eyes remained as dull and gray as they were before color had flooded his senses._

_“Is this a joke?” The taller man demanded from some omniscient power, sheer horror in his eyes as he gazed at the sky. He could see the beauty of color, but did the man he was falling for see it too?_

_Confusion crossed the shorter man’s soft, tanned features, immediately followed by worry. “Is what a joke, Joshua?”_

_The different hues were too overwhelming, too loud for him to hear Alan’s words. His eyes explored the park the two men had meandered through earlier, taking in the bright and exquisite sixth sense of color that he previously regarded as a mere myth. Pulling out of Alan’s sudden hand-hold, Joshua began to wander away._

_“Joshua!” Alan called, following. His words were weighted with concern, but they still weren’t enough to draw him back in. The colors of the sky were far too brash, and the bright flowers were deafening. All of his life, Joshua had been taught that color ceased to exist long ago and that a monochrome world was normal. However, it wasn’t true. Joshua suddenly realized that most people were damned to a colorless world; he was one of those lucky few that got to experience the magnificence of hues. He wouldn’t have been able to see this beauty without his ~~Alexander~~ Alan. _

_Once the initial shock of color subsided, Joshua turned to face his date_ – _his soulmate. Alan’s head was cocked, hands on his hips. Apprehension stirred within Joshua. Did he tell this man_ _,_ _his potential **soulmate**_ ** _,_** _that he’d seen color from a simple touch, or did he stay silent for the time being?_

_“Are you okay?” Alan questioned, inching closer and closer to Joshua. Again, he reached out to grab Joshua’s arm, but the freckle-faced beauty put distance between them. The passion in Joshua’s heart was real, but he was unsure if he was ready to fall so deeply for someone._

_As for Alan, a look of dismay graced his features, the sureness of his affections for the man were fading as he cowered from his touch. It seemed to him as if Joshua had just had an epiphany at the drop of a hat, leaving ~~Alexander~~ Alan in the dark. _

_“I don’t think I’m ready for this, Alan,” Joshua quickly explained as he moved to the picnic blanket they’d set out before. He wasn’t ready to fall in love with someone_ _who wouldn’t be capable of loving him in the same urgent, vivacious way he would surely love them_ _._

_Joshua’s vague answer didn’t deter Alan, despite its clear intention. He rushed over to help the other man pack their things; as they worked at stuffing the picnic basket with the leftover food, Alan’s natural curiosity got the best of him._

_“What do you think you’re not ready for?” Alan whispered._

_The question hung in the charged air as ~~John gazed into my dull eyes~~ Joshua gazed into Alan’s dull, gray eyes. After a moment, he lowered his gaze and whispered, “I’m not ready to fall in love with you.” _

 

           The piercing buzz of the bedroom alarm clock blared, suddenly pulling Alexander Hamilton from his pseudo-realistic dream. His eyes flashed open, revealing his depressingly monochrome world. He stared at the ceiling.

      It was immensely austere to know that the only person whom he really, truly loved couldn’t give him what he wanted: color.

            “Alexander, you’ll wake the children if you don’t turn that off!” Eliza suddenly said in a hushed tone, pulling him from his bleak thoughts. He turned to her and wanted to laugh, but when he found that she looked rather angry he realized that it was definitely not the right time. Instead, he turned back to his alarm clock and switched off the annoying alarm after finding the off button in the darkness.

            “Sorry, babe,” Alexander muttered under his breath, turning back to her for a brief second so he could give her a quick kiss good morning. When he turned back around, however, he noticed two things. First off, she was fast asleep again and secondly, there was a greater space between them than there had been only nights before. Alexander dismissed it though, pushing himself up with a grunt.

            After stretching out a bit, which helped him pop his aching back and flex the joints in his fingers, he headed for his closet and quietly opened it before stepping in. He shut the door behind him and turned on the lights. With that, Alexander was greeted with various boring shades of gray. The monotony of it all was enough to put him to sleep. To pull him from his tired thoughts, he parted the clothes hanging from the racks and smiled at the sight of a familiar photo staring back at him.

            Alexander reached out hesitantly and stroked the familiar, loving face depicted in the photo. It caused a smile to flicker across his features, despite the dull pain resonating in his chest. It reminded him of the color he’d never experienced, yet nevertheless felt had been stolen from him.

            He drew the clothes back together after a short while and grabbed a random shirt from the rack. It wasn’t like anyone would notice what the hell was going on with it anyway. The shirt was white, plain, and boring.

            It took another few minutes for Alexander to pick out a tie, pants, and shoes. Once he did, he turned the closet light off and opened the door leading back to the bedroom.

            Darkness filled the room, as it was only about five-thirty in the morning, but his eyes adjusted to the dim room rather quickly. Eliza was still tucked in bed, one foot jutting out from under the covers as per usual. One thing that was abnormal, however, was how close she was to the edge of the bed. He knew that their marriage wasn’t as strong as it used to be, but it seemed as if Eliza was subtly trying to avoid him.

            Usually, he would ignore it and grab the rest of his clothes so he could take a shower, but something felt amiss. He walked over to the edge of the bed, set his things down, and gently attempted to push her towards the middle of the king-sized mattress.

            To his misfortune, Eliza stirred slightly and peeped one gray eye open. She looked mildly annoyed, but Alexander dismissed it until she was mostly in the middle of the bed.

            Alexander smiled, looking down at her. “I was afraid you were going to roll off,” he lied, not wanting to share his insecurities at such early hours of the morning.

            Eliza could see right through him, but instead of biting back, she grasped his hand and sleepily muttered, “We’ll talk later.”

            Although Alexander knew he was a bad liar, he figured that he might’ve as well given it a shot. He hurriedly went back to gathering his clothes before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

            He turned to the mirror as soon as he placed his things on a surface that wouldn’t get wet and cringed the minute he saw his reflection. His youthful glow no longer masked the bags under his eyes and if he looked _really_ close, he could see a single gray hair slicked back with the rest of his long, dark tangles.

            “I need to get my hair cut,” Alexander muttered under his breath before going back to analyze his features.

            After spending another few minutes looking over his monochrome attributes, he leaned back and glanced at the reflection of the welcoming shower. A nice, warm shower was always some sort of an asylum for Alexander, so he always looked forward to it during his morning routine. He turned on the hot water and began to strip down.

            He always enjoyed his morning showers because he was able to brood over work without his family asking if he was okay. He always tried to separate work and family so he didn’t stress in front of his two, beautiful children. Both Philip and Angelica meant the world to him and he never wanted to be upset around them, so he never was.

            The moment Alexander stepped into the shower and stared at the wall in front of him, he let out a sigh. There was so much to dwell over. First off, his work life was bleeding into his family life in the least frustrating way possible. While the work itself wasn’t pesky, the fact that it had been keeping him from being a good father was. It’d been awhile since he’d gone to one of Angelica’s dance recitals or one of Philip’s spoken-word poetry slams. The fact that he hadn’t been there for his children since he started on his first book made the situation even worse: he first began to draft it three years ago, so he missed a lot.

            Thankfully, he was almost finished rewriting the story, so he was close to simply having to type it up and pitch the idea. As the CFO at Blue Brook Publishing Company, he had a bit of an advantage. Not only that but the CEO, George Washington, was like a father to him. The kids called him granddad and everything, so Alexander could surely get published by mid-2017.

            One little issue that he would always dwell upon, that would always inevitably pop up, was Thomas Jefferson. He was the Chief Operating Office of their firm, Blue Brook, and the very thought of him made Alexander tremble in pure rage.

            Jefferson was insufferable, unqualified, and was constantly pushing Alexander a step away from Washington. There was a possibility that Alexander could find a way to squeeze his pitch into the board meeting they were having later that day, but with their wavering financials, Hamilton knew that the economics of it all was first and foremost what they needed to discuss, or rather what _he_ had to discuss. Everyone else simply had to sit around and nod their heads until Washington agreed with his plan and asked him to email him the details. If there _was_ any room for discussion at the end, however, Thomas surely would’ve brought up how inappropriate it was on Alexander’s behalf to try and pitch a book that was incredibly important to _him_ and no one else at a board meeting. Knowing Jefferson, he'd raise hell, but Alexander wanted to get this book on the table today, one way or another. And discussing the book outside of work hours would only result in more work being thrust into his family life which was already on the verge of ruin.

            Alexander spent another good hour thinking about all of the shit he had to do at work before he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

            It was a rarity that Eliza woke up early. The only exception was if she got in the mood, which was a rare occurrence now. Alexander enjoyed the morning sex though, so when the knocking ceased, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

            Alexander hastily hopped out of the shower and dried himself off. The mirror was no longer fogged because the hot water in the shower died out about thirty minutes earlier. After making sure he looked decent, he headed to the door and partially opened it. Eliza came in almost immediately and closed the door behind her, causing a warm sensation to spread through him. He was quick to grab her and even quicker to lean in, but she unexpectedly pulled from his grasp.

            He frowned, confused.

            “Babe, it’s been a while… I don’t want to force you into anything, but when will we ever–“

           Eliza placed a firm hand over his mouth and shot him a harsh glare. “Our daughter is in the bedroom, Alexander!”

            Oftentimes, the children would come into the room and cuddle with them in the mornings, so Alexander couldn’t help but wonder why Eliza seemed so frazzled; her eyes were alert, demeanor exhausted.

            “Is there something wrong with her?” he questioned, oblivious. As he waited for an answer, he began to pull on his clothing.

            Eliza let out a huff as she leaned against the bathroom counter nonchalantly. “She’s burning up. She has a pretty high fever.”

           Alexander was surprised. Angelica never seemed to get sick and he knew she was too studious to simply want to skip a day. He picked up his pace so he could get to his daughter more quickly. He slipped into his business attire with rapid-fire speed and exited the bathroom in a whirlwind, nearly knocking Eliza down as he made his way out.

      Upon opening the door, the light from the bathroom spilled out, allowing him to see his baby Angelica laying on their bed with a pillow hugged to her chest. Her face was buried in the pillow, hiding the fact that she was crying.

            As he inched closer to the curled up seven-year-old, she glanced up at him with bleary, gray eyes and a giant frown on that pretty little face of hers. “I don’t wanna stay home!” Angelica wailed.

            Alexander wasn’t sure if he should’ve disciplined her for yelling or rewarded her for being such an avid student. Both of his children were smart, especially Philip. He was only nine and was already in the fifth grade. Neither he or Angelica missed a day of school, up until then. It seemed apparent that Angelica was too sick to go.

            The father took a seat next to his little academic and pulled her into his lap. She was notorious for temper tantrums and he was the only person who could ever calm her down. So, he began to stroke her hair and asked, “Why don’t you, baby girl?”

            Angelica looked up at her father with a stubbornness similar to his own and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want perfect attendance! I want the medal, Daddy! And those little tag thingies for my backpack!”

            He couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at his child. He found it humorous that the little prizes that were handed out were what motivated her to go to school every day.

            Before Alexander could reply, Eliza cleared her throat. He looked up, finding his half-amused wife leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. “Alexander, can you take Philip to school? I’m staying here with Miss Perfect Attendance.”

            “But I _won’t_ have perfect attendance, Mommy!” Angelica said miserably, spiraling into a fit of crying.

            Alexander didn’t know what to do with his beautiful little tragedy as she clung to his body and begged him to take her with them. Angelica didn’t like to be told no, plus her exhaustion and feverish state only made her all the more agitated. The child was usually a ball of sunshine, but when she was upset, she was _upset_.

            Eliza let out an audible sigh before grabbing the small girl from Alexander’s lap and propping her on her hip. As the woman bounced her daughter, she turned to her husband with a pleading look in her eyes. “Will you _please_ take Philip to school?”

            Although Alexander liked being early to work, he knew someone needed to take the boy, so he’d resign himself to taking his child to school for once.

            “Sure.”

Alexander left his girls a moment after giving them a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He grabbed his briefcase as he exited and made his way down the hall to Philip’s room.

            Once reaching the door, Alexander very hesitantly nudged the bedroom door open slightly and glanced into the room. His son was sitting there, scrolling through his phone. The nine-year-old knew it was against the rules and Alexander was sure he did it to vex both him and Eliza. He’d been acting up as of late and neither parent had any idea why.

After cautiously watching his son for another few seconds, Alexander pushed the door open. He had a strong instinct not to mention the phone, but it was always particularly hard for the man to not say what he thought.

“Why are you on your phone before school?” Hamilton asked in an authoritative tone.

Philip was quick to shove the phone under him. His eyes were wide as he stared at his father, a bit of fear swimming in two pools of dark gray. “W-what are you doing in my room?”

Alexander squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath to keep himself calm. _Philip used to never talk back,_ he thought. Hamilton glanced back up at Philip after taking another few deep breaths. “I am in your room because I can be in your room, Philip. Now, put the phone away and get ready for school. I’m taking you,” he snapped back before exiting the room and slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 

      Thomas Jefferson laid in his bed in the dark, humid apartment, panting, a guilty but pleasured smile on his face as he came down from the high of his orgasm. They usually did this in the evenings, but for once they’d decided to switch it up since both he and his long-distance girlfriend had woken up horny. Although nothing beat being buried between Mallory’s thighs, sexting was a pretty close second.

            Thomas spent another few minutes regaining composure before opening his eyes to his usual, colorless world. He grabbed onto his phone and sat up, smirking slightly when he unlocked his iPhone and read what Mallory said.

_We should do this more often ;)_

A deep chuckle resonated through the nicely-sized apartment before he sent a response.

_Definitely agree. To be continued…_

            After sending the text, Thomas went to place his phone on the nightstand, but as he did so, a certain picture caught his eye.

            It was taken in the spring many years ago, when things were good between him and his late wife, Martha. They had just found out that she was pregnant and at that moment, his life had been perfect. Anyone who truly knew Thomas Jefferson, however, knew that things could never be perfect for too long with him.

He took full responsibility; it was his own fault that his life was so fucked up. However, he liked to shove it aside and pretend his problems didn’t exist. Sometimes he could almost convince himself they didn’t.

            Shame slowly began to fill Thomas as he continued to stare at the photo. At times, he forgot the reason why he still had it on his nightstand. The woman always reminded him to be humble, and that was the last thing he was at that point in his life. Guilt flooded his senses, and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the photo. Eventually, he grasped the frame and placed it glass-down so he no longer had to look at her beautiful, monochrome face.

            _Any other day would’ve been fine to feel like shit_ , Thomas thought as he rolled onto his other side so he could glance at his alarm clock. _Any day other than the one with this goddamned board meeting_.

            When his eyes fell on the number on the clock, he felt his soul physically leaving his body. It was incredibly late and he hadn’t realized he’d wasted as much time as he did, fucking himself to Mallory’s arousing words. Granted, he was almost always late to work, but as of recently, he’d been trying to get there earlier. Ever since he found out the ungodly hour Alexander Hamilton arrived, he felt as if he needed to step up his game.

            Thomas growled under his breath at the very thought of the gremlin-looking little bastard. While the man walked to his closet to pick out his gray or black or white or whatever the hell colored outfit, thoughts of the rude asshole continued to swirl around in his mind.

Jefferson never really liked Hamilton. He hadn’t officially met the guy until a year ago, but there was always a huge buzz about him during Blue Brook’s earlier days. Apparently, the guy had really helped turn around the fight for Blue Brook. That didn’t mean Thomas had to like him, even if he helped gain the publishing company’s independence.

            Alexander Hamilton’s thoughts completely opposed Jefferson’s. Whether it be in financing, governing the employees, or handling intercompany affairs, they never saw eye to eye. Part of it may have been because Hamilton was so damn short, but another factor was that they both felt their ideas were the best.

            The curly-headed mess of a man was snapped out of his thoughts the minute he heard a loud rip fill the small closet. His eyes fell to the gray shirt he was tugging the sleeve off of. Thomas wasn’t exactly sure if he should’ve laughed or cried at the fact that he actually ripped off its sleeve, but after remembering what time it was, he decided that he hadn’t any time to do either. Instead, he hustled to grab the things he needed and darted out of the closet.

            As Thomas hurried to get ready, he was glad that he didn’t need to shower before. It was eight-forty and the meeting was at nine, so he had no time to waste. Being the metrosexual he was, he would normally have touched up his sharply trimmed beard, but he didn’t have time.

            After a few minutes, he looked the best he could without shaving. He gave the clock another look and bit his thick bottom lip. Eight-forty-five.

            Just to make sure, Thomas glanced into the mirror and made sure he looked as put-together as possible. His skin was its typical shade of darker gray, so he knew that he didn’t look ill, his afro bordered his face perfectly, giving him a charming look, and once he took his medication, his faux charisma would reignite in his eyes.

            “Okay, okay. I gotta go,” Thomas whispered to himself, tucking a curl behind his ear. He turned away from the mirror and grabbed the items his work required before shoving them all in his briefcase and exiting his bedroom.

            Thomas quickly made his way into the kitchen after exiting his room. He couldn’t rule the day with an empty stomach…or without his medication.

On a typical day, Thomas would make himself a full-blown meal that he would work off at the gym later, but he had no time that morning, so he just walked to the fridge and grabbed a protein drink. He slammed the fridge shut with his foot as he struggled to carry his things and open the drink at the same time. He placed the briefcase down upon approaching the kitchen counter and finally opened the drink soon after, taking a swig. After placing the plastic bottle on his granite countertop, Thomas grabbed his medication from its spot on the counter and measured out his dose. He gulped down the pill with a mouthful of protein drink before checking the time again.

            It was nearly eight-fifty and he knew he had to go, but he wasn’t too sure about his mode of transportation. There was definitely traffic and in his year of being in New York, Thomas was able to easily understand that traffic meant inching towards the destination at a negative twenty mile-per-hour pace. The only way he could go was by foot and boy was he lucky that he had the stamina. Blue Brook was a five-minute run at his pace, but he wasn’t sure if it was worth the humiliation.

            “I have to,” Thomas groaned as he took his protein drink in one hand and the handle of his briefcase in the other. There was no longer any choice.

            As Thomas opened the front door, he was greeted with the sting of the crisp autumn air. A little bit of a breeze was nice and would keep him cool, so he was slowly beginning to warm up to the idea of running to work.

            He took off down the sidewalk after locking the door behind him.

            By eight-fifty-five on the dot, Thomas made his way through the glass doors of Blue Brook. Due to his high endurance, he wasn’t the slightest bit out of breath and made his way to the elevators at a quick but nonchalant pace. As he approached the elevator and pressed the up button, John Adams–who would’ve thought?–walked up to him with a look of stern politeness on his face. Thomas didn’t return the kind look. He loved the guy, he just wasn’t in the mood.

            “You’re back, Adams,” Thomas stated, shaking his hand as John offered it to him.

            “I needed that month break,” was the reply, “helped me think things through.”

            “That’s…good?” he muttered with uncertainty, desperately wanting to break the awkward tension by looking away.

            Thankfully, a woman a good deal younger than Adams called the man’s name. John turned to the voice, a smile making its way to his face. He turned back to Thomas and muttered, “My daughter. I must go.”

            The dwarfish Adams skedaddled off, allowing Thomas to sigh in relief. He quickly wiped his hand off on his pants, turning back to the elevator.

            Thomas waited another few seconds until the doors opened. He hastily stepped in and pressed the button to the top floor before hitting the other button that shut the doors. For the oddest reason, he hated riding up with people. He didn’t enjoy feeling like he was a sardine in a tightly packaged can.

            At eight-fifty-eight, the elevator reached its peak destination, letting Thomas’ worries of being late melted away. Once all of the head employees were on the top floor, they usually stayed until it was time to clock out. So, he stepped to the front of the elevator, not too worried about anyone stepping on the elevator to go down.

            For once, this wasn't the case. As the doors parted he went to exit, and in that same moment, someone ran straight into him with hurried, brute force.

            Thomas held his chest, eyes clenched shut as he tried to recompose himself. Whoever just ran into him was a man on a mission. “Jesus Christ,” Thomas grunted in pain.

            “Holy shit!” a familiar voice screamed in reply, making Thomas inwardly groan. He was going to reply, but the elevator doors closed with a ding.

            Out of anyone to be stuck in an elevator with for another minute, it _had_ to be Alexander Hamilton.

            “What the fuck are you yelling about now, Hamil–”

            Thomas was rendered silent as he opened his eyes. There in front of him was the man who he abhorred, staring back at him in full color.

            All of his life, Thomas had been skeptical of the lore of color. Black and white was all he knew and after Martha, he’d never believed in soulmates. The rumor was that color flooded your senses the minute you touched your soulmate, after all. There wasn’t credible scientific backing. There weren’t any cold, hard, facts. There had been so many times where color-seers’ stories were debunked. But here he was, staring at Alexander Hamilton, his _soulmate_ and worst enemy, in color.

            “My god,” Thomas whispered.

            Alexander looked both shocked and horrified as he stared into Thomas’ eyes. Something moved within Alexander, making him speechless.

            Thomas stared as well, looking into Alexander’s eyes as if for the first time. There was a surprisingly electrifying authority behind them and their newly-found color; it caught him off guard. But before he could delve any deeper into Alexander’s shockingly beautiful eyes, the small man finally spoke up.

“You, out of all people, have to be my soulmate?!” he screamed, turning his eyes toward the ceiling of the elevator. “You must really hate me, God!” he continued until Jefferson dropped his things and clamped his hand over Alexander’s mouth.

            “Do you not have the ability to shut the fuck up?!” Thomas roared, his eyes blazing with pure rage as he stared down at Alexander.

            As Hamilton went to reply, the doors of the newly colored elevator parted to show none other than their colleague Aaron Burr. He stood there with a daunted expression. “Should I wait or…?”

            The men quickly separated from each other and stood on opposite ends of the elevator, allowing Aaron to stand in the middle of them. He boarded without a word and the doors drew closed after.

            For a while, there was nothing but silence. Alexander and Thomas shared a hostile glance every once in a while, but nothing more until Aaron spoke up.

            “Did Georgie put you two in time out–”

            “Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.” Thomas shot a death glare at Aaron before the elevator was filled with silence yet again.

            Aaron was out of the elevator as soon as the doors parted and Hamilton went to exit as well, disregarding whatever he had to do earlier. Before he could leave, however, Jefferson forcefully grabbed him by the wrist, dragged him back in, and slammed him against the elevator, pinning him to its bright, gilded walls by the wrists.

            In hopes of intimidating the little man, Thomas got in Alexander’s face and looked him dead in the eye. A grave look overwhelmed his features. “You tell anyone and I _will_ end you. Hear me?”

            Unlike what Thomas had hoped, Alexander cracked a grin. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

            Thomas let out a grunt of frustration and shoved himself away from Alexander.

            “A promise.”

            With those words, Thomas grabbed his briefcase, stormed out of the elevator, and headed towards the boardroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> formatting is not my friend. I tried, but AO3 decided to ignore all of my indents this chapter. Sorry!!

A thick tension filled the silent boardroom. It was unusually quiet. Before every board meeting, a quiet buzz among the associates was common; one man would turn to the other and discuss business issues within their sub-committee's realm, and consider how they might relate to issues within other committees. For whatever odd reason, however, no one dared say a word today. Instead, their eyes were glued on Alexander Hamilton. The man was obviously mad, but he simply sat there with a cold demeanor. His shoulders were rolled back, brows furrowed just slightly, his lips slightly pursed as he crossed his arms over his sturdy chest. Hamilton's gaze was focused on the man across the table, who was his complete antithesis. Across from him sat Thomas Jefferson, unusually stormy-looking. His brows were furiously arched and his breathing was hot and heavy. He sat on the edge of his seat, seemingly ready to pounce if Alexander spoke a word. Despite his livid façade, a painful headache had struck him due to the vibrancy of his newfound world, but he wasn’t about to let that show. He couldn’t. Looking weak wasn’t an option, especially in the presence of his soulmate and arch-nemesis, Alexander Hamilton.

            Stare downs were typical between the two during board meetings, but what was so peculiar was the fact that today, while Alexander ran cool and completely collected, Thomas sat there, running hot and ready to burst. Usually, it was the other way around with Alexander ready to stand up and scream his head off at a nonchalant Jefferson. Ever since their encounter in the elevator, however, Thomas seemed to be ready to fight and Alexander was almost contemplative. It was inherently suspicious, but no one dared to address the issue.

While Thomas sat there, easy to read, all of the thoughts remained in Alexander’s head and not on his face. Many thoughts crossed his mind, but what stuck was his family. His marriage was already falling apart as it was and both of his children weren’t very close to him by any means. Bumping into Thomas was going to ruin his family life, ruin his love life, and fuck up his standards. From what Alexander knew about soulmates—and he knew a lot—they usually fell in love, and the task seemed impossible with Thomas Jefferson. Who could fall in love with him? He was suave and debonair, sure. Hell, he could even pull off that ugly, brash color he was wearing, but under his grace was a heartless man from Alexander’s perspective. He didn’t give a fuck about the company and Alexander did not like that.

“Woah, Thomas, are you okay?” A familiar voice broke the silence, James Madison stepping into Alexander’s field of vision soon after. The sturdy but short set man coughed into a tissue while making his way around the table to take a seat next to Thomas.

A familiar and reassuring sardonic feeling began to bubble up in Alexander as James continued to cough. Alexander made eye contact with James for a moment and felt a smirk make its way to his face.

“Still sick?” Alexander asked, words oozing with fake sincerity. But as he looked at James, he noticed how…gray his eyes were. He knew they remained gray, but he didn’t realize that they’d seem so dull.

A throbbing pain shot up his shin, pulling him from his thoughts. Alexander let out a yell of pain, standing up as he hopped about on one foot, hugging his leg to his chest. He didn’t stop until he heard a deep, chesty laugh. Immediately, Alexander turned to Jefferson and cursed under his breath. He went to confront Jefferson, but before he could speak, someone muttered, “Oh, here we go again...”

Alexander ignored the comment as he turned to Thomas and yelled, “What the fuck was that for?!”

Jefferson just laughed again, leaning back slightly in his swivel chair. “You taunted my friend, I stood up for him. What’d you expect?”

There was the Thomas Alexander knew and hated.

“I never see him standing up for you when I fuck around with you!” Alexander exclaimed, finally standing on both feet again. He pressed his palms against the table as he slowly leaned forward in hopes to intimidate Thomas. Instead, Jefferson stood up, his height proving to be an advantage.

“He does, Alexander. Now, sit down and stop acting like a damn child,” Thomas said, taking a seat himself.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed at Thomas’ instructions. “Me? Acting like a child? You kicked me in the fucking shin, you asshole!” he yelled again before attempting to spring towards Thomas. Before he could get on the table, however, he was roughly grabbed by the scruff of his shirt.

“Alexander Hamilton!” boomed the intimidating voice of George Washington. Alexander froze. He knew that he was in trouble whenever George used his full name, so he slowly took his seat and glanced up at the man standing behind him.

“Hi, George.”

The stressed CEO let out a restless sigh and ignored Alexander, walking to the head of the table. He set his binder on the table, his briefcase on the ground, and took a seat in the large, leather swivel chair. Then, he turned to Alexander with an unamused look on his face. “Do I want to know?”

A few of the associates let out quiet, amused chuckles but were soon silenced by Alexander’s harsh glare. Alexander shrugged slightly after turning back to Harris. “Asshat kicked me in the Goddamn shin.”

Washington’s dark gray eyes rolled as a look of exasperation crossed his face. “When are you two not fighting like children?”

“I was being a _little_ bit rude, I stress _little_ , to James. I just asked if he was still sick and King kicked me in the motherfucking shin!” Alexander said, waving his arms about in the air.

“Can you watch your mouth, Alexander. I know you swear like a sailor, but you don’t need to remind me,” George groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to maintain his composure. He loved his CFO, but frankly, Alexander was an exhausting man.

“Why don’t we just start this meeting?” Thomas said, finally speaking up as he leaned forward in his chair

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up—“

             “Just be quiet, Rosario!” one of the associates finally yelled, hushing Alexander. When he glanced over, he noticed that it was obviously Aaron Burr who had yelled, by the look on his face.

Alexander finally sat back in his chair and nodded. “Yeah, I guess we should. We’re all pretty busy, especially around this time of year.”

“Not only that,” George said, flipping open his binder, “but with recent events with other companies, we have affairs to address.”

The sound of a general, typical board meeting was heartening to Alexander. If it was all oversight, then he might have enough time to pitch his story... it looked as if it was a window of opportunity, until Thomas spoke up.

“So, have you come to your decision in aidin’ Green Grove?”

Upon hearing the question, Alexander was thrown off. Aiding Green Grove? In what? Why didn’t he know? Why did Jefferson? He hadn’t missed a single day of work… was it perhaps discussed in private? Was he just not listening? Panic continued to rise in Alexander as he noticed a smirk growing on his Jefferson's face.

“Personally, I think I know what my decision is, but as CEO, I am required to listen to each of the sub-committee's comments and concerns.” For a brief moment. Washington took his time adjusting his glasses before glancing in the direction of Alexander. At first, he thought that the boss would address him, until he asked, “Katherine, are you ready?”

The secretary next to him promptly nodded before calling out the starting time of the board meeting.

George turned to Thomas first, readjusting his glasses. “You start, Thomas. How will this affect us as a company as a whole?”

With the same grace that starkly juxtaposed his personality, Thomas swiftly stood up, pushing his chair into its respective spot under the table.

“Sir, you have to understand that regardless of what is best for the company, we need to stand by Green Grove’s side,” Jefferson began, placing a hand on top of his chair. “After all,” he continued, “that was what they did for us when we were trying to split off as our own company. While we were on the brink of being drawn back into that tyrannical-like business of Red Mark, Green Grove, as an independent company, provided us with funds in order to remove ourselves from our superior.”

Thomas paused for a brief intermission, allowing the information to sink in with the associates. There were a few murmurs of understanding, a few of calm refute. Hamilton, on the other hand, was fuming on the inside, bitterly disagreeing with every point Thomas made. Although the man was right, the company could _not_ afford it. They were one of the biggest publishing companies in the United States, yes, but that didn’t eliminate the fact that aiding Green Grove would cost them hundreds of millions of dollars.

“We must help ‘em, George!” said Thomas, the melodramatic man succumbing to throwing his hands up in the air. “Look at where we are! If Green Grove hadn’t helped us, none of us in this board room would be on the thirty-second floor of a skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan!”

To emphasize his case, Thomas gestured out of the window. A few looked out, including Alexander.

“I rest my case,” Jefferson concluded a moment later, taking a seat. A smug smile was on his face as voices began to buzz in agreement.

Thomas was always quite persuasive, Alexander could give him that, but Alexander was competitive, and always knew how to step it up a notch. He gave Washington no time to reply before he stood up himself, roughly pushing his chair in so he had space to pace as he talked, and boy could he _talk_.

“You _completely_ disregarded your position as the COO to address how this would affect the company, so let _me_ ,” Hamilton said as he stared Thomas down, venom in his words. “If we were to help Green Grove, we would have to supply them money that _we don’t have_. Sure, we’re a strong and successful company, but we do not have the ability to throw money out like that! We are comfortable as we are right now, but hypothetically, if we were to help Green Grove, we would have to lay off people to make ends meet in six months’ time!”

“What they did for us was honorable and we _should_ repay them in some way, but we don’t have the money they had. Yes, we branched off successfully nearly a decade ago, but we won’t be completely stable for another couple of them We are not like Red Mark and Green Grove; they have been around for over half a century, unlike us! We are juvenile compared to them. So, in short, no. We cannot help them unless you want this company to fail.”

Even though Alexander’s passionate speech had seemed to rouse the spirits of several people, he took no notice; he decided to tune out the remainder of the meeting as he had come to the realization that there was nothing general about it. It was more of a collective deliberation than anything else. There was no time to pitch his novel, so he resorted to staring at his lap, spending the rest of the time using his phone to look up information on color. He’d much rather spend his time on learning about his surroundings and the vibrancy of his new world instead of listening to something he couldn’t speak up on. Their board meetings were reminiscent to mat time in preschool. Whoever had the stick could talk, and he no longer had it.

So, that was what Hamilton did. He simply idled for the rest of the meeting allowing his eyes to take in the wonder of color. Through the cramming study session, he discovered that he was wearing green and that the back of his hand was tan. The sky was blue, the chairs were actually black and not just another monochromatic shade, and Thomas Jefferson's surprisingly beautiful eyes were brown. He was in a completely different state of mind, but was jarred out of his reverie as a sturdy hand slammed in front of Alexander, startling him back to reality.

His eyes were drawn to George Washington, who looked to be losing patience but was gracefully holding it together. Washington tried his best to crack a smile, but he was obviously irritated.

“While you were in another dimension, I came to a conclusion, and I would like you to hear it as well.”

Hamilton nodded, blinking a couple of times to truly pull himself back into the situation. Once he was sure that he was back in the moment, he looked back at his boss.

“And?” he said.

“We cannot aid Green Grove. First off, we wouldn’t have anyone to negotiate with. Their CEO was fired last week.”

“But the rest of the company is supporting itself!” Jefferson suddenly stood, thoughts swimming in his head as he tried to think of the right thing to say.

Before he could, however, Hamilton leapt to his feet as well. “The company is going to crumble, Thomas. You know it. The boss didn’t even care enough to keep his affair with his secretary discreet. How do you expect the company with ‘ _such high standards’_ to not fail?”

“They _will_ fail if we don’t help,” Thomas said.

“And we will fail if we do!” Alexander rebuked, raising his voice.

“That is _enough_!” said Washington, pushing himself from his chair. He made his way to the window of the boardroom which faced both Green Grove and Red Mark.

“Jefferson, you said that the company is handling itself without a CEO, yes?” George asked, his demeanor cool.

Thomas joined Washington's side, looking out of the window as well. “Yessir. I did.”

George wrapped an arm around Thomas amicably and pointed to the street, right in front of Red Mark. “Do you see that?”

King looked visibly shaken as he said, “They’re rioting…”

“You’re right, Thomas. They are rioting. How will that help Blue Brook’s reputation?” George said, a bit of his annoyance peeking out of his calm demeanor.

Thomas took a seat next to Madison, subdued. His dark eyes turned to the ugly colored floor as he visibly deflated.

“And there we have it,” Harris finally said, making his way back to the front of the boardroom. Upon reaching his chair, he rested both hands on top of it as his eyes panned the room. “Hamilton?” he said.

Alexander glanced up from his lap and cocked a brow. “Yes, sir?”

“I need you to write a notice stating that if _anyone_ associated with Blue Brook attempts to aid Green Grove, there will be immediate termination.”

“I can do that,” the secretary spoke up, but Washington shook his head.

“I asked Hamilton, dear. I have other things I need you to do.” After quickly glancing at his watch, George looked back at his assistant. “Meeting over. Everyone, get to work!”

While most people filed out rather quickly, both Alexander and Thomas lingered behind. As Thomas sulked, Alexander studied and neither realized that they were the last two in the boardroom until they managed to look up from their distractions at the same time.

For once, Thomas didn’t seem angry with Alexander. Instead, he looked…disappointed.

“Gilbert is your friend, Alexander. How could you not care about your friend, my cousin?” Thomas said.

Alexander stuffed his phone in his pocket as he allowed his eyes to scan Thomas’ suit. “Purple…”

Thomas raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“What in the hell is purple?” he asked, standing up so he could leave.

“It’s what you’re wearing,” said Alexander matter of factly, getting up as well.

He turned to leave, but Thomas slammed the boardroom door shut, the sound causing him to wince. “What’d I say ‘bout bringing color up?!” said Thomas, his tone scathing.

“I want to know what’s surrounding me, Thomas! Just because you don’t want to doesn’t mean I can’t! Hell, the world is so much better now that it isn’t so fucking monochrome! I like that the sky is blue and that the chairs are black! I like knowing that my surroundings aren’t so Goddamn dull—”

“Shut the fuck up! Just shut up!” Thomas screamed, dropping his things to the ground. He began to shake Alexander by the shoulders; as he did, he continued to yell, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

After the initial shock of being grabbed and shaken around like a doll, Alexander found the strength to push Thomas off, and as soon as he did, he once again attempted to leave. Thomas was quicker, however. He stepped in front of the door and continued harassing Alexander by grasping his collar and pulling him close like he did on the elevator.

“You ruined my life!” He yelled directly in Alexander’s face. A vein in his head was bulging. “God, I hate you!”

“Poor _you_ ,” Alexander said sarcastically, mock sympathizing with Thomas as he shoved himself from the bigger man’s grasp. “I actually have a family, unlike you, so you can suck a dick.”

A strange silence filled the room as Alexander went to collect his things. After grabbing his briefcase, he turned around to find a look of disgusted consideration on Thomas’ face.

Thomas realized that Alexander was staring at him, and said defensively, “I’m not a fag.”

As Thomas went to grab his briefcase, Alexander suddenly seized him by the wrist. A furious fire was blazing in his eyes and, as he made to speak, a shudder overtook him. The fire in his eyes didn’t die as he pulled his shaking hand from Jefferson's wrist, but he did seem to shrink into himself considerably.

Alexander slipped out without a single word, still shaking as he walked to his office.


	3. Chapter 3

After several hours of strenuous labor consisting of typing up a notice and searching for appropriate prose to polish the last few chapters of his novel, Alexander was apprehensive to whether he should’ve left the building or not.

The perks of going home almost outweighed his anxieties. He would be able to kiss his wife good evening. He would be able to fill his belly with a homemade meal. He would be able to ask his kids how their day was, which was typically the only interaction they had each day. Then, he would be able to get back to writing.

Writing while with family was an admitted bad habit Alexander had picked up, but he was so close to being finished. It was right in his grasp, he just had to reach a bit more. Once he was finished, he would become a family man again, he told himself. He just hoped the children would forgive him for his absence.

What truly deterred him from going straight home, however, was weighing him down. Earlier that morning while Alexander was driving Philip to school, the nine-year-old decided to start screaming at him. Hamilton hadn’t any idea what he said, but his son began to rant about how terrible of a father he was. “…always working! When will we matter more than your book?!” The words were shadowed by the slamming of his BMW’s passenger door. Alexander didn’t even attempt to make amends with his son after the mishap, merely because he needed to get to work. Now that he looked back on it, he should have for two reasons; he needed to discipline Philip for is outlandish actions, and he could’ve completely avoided his second issue if he was just a bit later.

The other problem at hand was that he could see  _color_. It was a blessing and a curse: a blessing in the fact that he could see the variations of shades and hues and a curse because of the man who gave him the ability. Thomas Jefferson thought his life was ruined, but he didn’t have a wife  _or_  kids. Not only did it ruin Alexander’s life, but it also ruined his family’s. Not that Philip would care. It seemed that the kid despised him. Angelica, however, would be torn as well as his dear wife. He loved his Eliza so much. How was he supposed to tell her that she couldn’t make him see color, but the man he abhorred could?

Alexander eventually headed towards the elevator, shaking the discouraging words from his head. He’d wind up home anyway, so it might as well have been sooner than later.

As he approached the elevator and pressed the button, however, a soft but affirmative tap on his shoulder caused him to turn around. The minute he found tired, but vibrant brown eyes staring into his own, he wanted to box their owner in the face and give him an earful. Before he could, Thomas held his hand over Hamilton’s mouth and said, “I know you’re mad at me. I mean, when are ‘ya not? But—”

 _Ding._  The elevator doors opened.

Alexander walked into the elevator, but was followed by Thomas despite the fact that he was obviously not ready to leave the office. He didn’t have his briefcase, nor were his shoes on. What he had to say must’ve been gravely important because it was quite out of character for Jefferson to search him down.

The minute the doors closed, Thomas gazed down at Hamilton, his hands wringing out of nervousness. Alexander had never seen a vulnerable side of Jefferson, but it was certainly entertaining.

“So?” Alexander said.

Thomas inhaled sharply, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. He continued to wring his hands until his eyes opened again. “I’m sorry for calling you,  _you know_.  _That_  word. You were obviously affected by it in a negative way. I mean, you looked like you were about to go into panic mode by how much you were shaking…”

And Alexander did. It took him a good fifteen minutes to calm down.

He didn’t know why Thomas was apologizing. Jefferson never seemed to have a sense of remorse when he was rude any other time, so what made this any different?

Although Alexander didn’t understand it, it was always cordial to accept a sincere apology. Thomas seemed as if he truly meant it, so he muttered, “I accept your apology.”

Surprise flickered in Jefferson’s eyes. “’Ya sure? You’ve never accepted my apology before…”

“And you’ve never apologized to me,” Alexander said. “I accepted your apology because it sounds like you meant it. Nothing more. I still hate you.”

“Of course you do,” Thomas whispered.

Alexander wanted to roll his eyes. Thomas and his melodramatic self were getting on his nerves. He turned towards Jefferson. “When will you learn to stop complaining? My God, I didn’t ruin your life!”

“But you did!” Jefferson said defensively. “You ruined my life! Now that I know you’re my soulmate, I won’t be able to pick up ladies like I used to, knowing I am supposed to be in love with you!”

Both men took a minute to assess what Thomas said. Romantic soulmates  _were_ the most common type, so Alexander could see where the latter was coming from.

“At least you don’t have a wife and children. Children! How am I supposed to tell my kids that I’m supposed to be with the man I hate?!” Alexander said.

His fiery eyes rested on Thomas as he waited for a response, but it seemed there wouldn’t be one. He looked lost, wounded even.

To compensate, Alexander searched for something to say to spark the Jefferson in Thomas. “I mean, you might be a pompous sonofabitch, but—”

“At least I’m not an illegitimate bastard, unlike you. My mother cared about me enough to provide me with a good life,” Thomas quickly snapped back, giving Alexander no time to finish the compliment he was brewing.

Alexander decided not to finish the compliment, but instead punched Thomas square in the face before exiting. He heard Thomas screaming for him to come back, but he had enough of the man. He wanted to go home, unwind, and write.

* * *

By the time Alexander reached his Manhattan townhome, his anger disappeared. It was a rarity for Alexander to come home mad. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t sure if his children have even seen him completely upset. He raised his voice slightly at Philip that morning, but that was the most he’s yelled at home in years.

If there was any day that he would’ve come home angry it would have been this one, but he was happy to come home with a smile on his face.

After he slugged Thomas, Alexander had quickly walked outside, only to be stunned by the world and its vibrancy. So many colors bombarded him at once, it was almost blinding. But as Alexander drove back to his house and became acclimated to the new world of color, he couldn’t help but drive around in awe. He never knew stop lights were red, or trees were green. The evening sky was a mesh of pink and blue, which turned into a beautiful, light purple backdrop on Manhattan. And as he drove, the dark blue velvet of the nighttime sky overtook the city, allowing the lights on Broadway shine with such exquisite brilliance.

Once he parked on the street in front of his humble townhome, going inside almost seemed to be a burden. He was happy just sitting there, watching the stars slowly freckle the sky. However, he needed to go in. He had food to eat and a book to work on.

He was quick to unbuckle and grab his things, but lingered on the street in front of his home, allowing his eyes to drink every last drop of color they could before entering the home. There was color in there as well, he knew, but he had to pretend that there wasn’t. He had to pretend that everything was normal, that nothing happened.

Upon opening the front door, he was smacked in the face with an unappealing greenish color painted on the walls. From what he knew, the color was “moss” according to the paint chip, but he didn’t expect it to be so…ugly. As he continued further into the house, he was pleased to find that his nook seemed to be a more mundane shade of green. It was light and refreshing, which must’ve been why it was his favorite room in the house.

As Alexander wandered into his office with wandering eyes and a grin on his face, he failed to notice the footsteps shadowing his own until a small hand slipped into his larger one. He looked down to find a small but sickly girl smiling at him with a pearly smile. Her tanned face was bordered by silky, dark brown locks and her cheeks were tinged a feverish pink, but when he looked into her big, beautiful eyes, the smile on his face faded. Her eyes were so incredibly dull and gray.  

“Just like Madison…,” he whispered.

A look of confusion slipped onto Angelica’s face. “What, Daddy?”

Alexander blinked a couple of times, cursing himself for mentioning anything. Instead of replying, he sat his briefcase down and swooped her up into his arms in a matter of seconds. She let out a small squeal of delight as he continued to the kitchen, which was emitting the wonderful smell of a homemade dinner.

Once he reached the kitchen, he noticed that Philip sat at the table with a slight look of disdain on his features. His eyes were diverted to the light brown wood of the table and his hand was wrapped around his glass of milk. Philip did something he wasn’t supposed to. Alexander knew that look when he saw it.

“Hello, my gorgeous family,” Alexander said after spending a few more minutes to take everything in. He placed Angelica on the ground, allowing her to scramble into her seat.

Philip glanced up at Alexander and he tried to wave, but the nine-year-old looked down before he could.

Alexander made his way to his wife, ignoring the obvious tension between him and his son. He wrapped his arms around her waist upon reaching her, but was surprised when she jumped slightly in his grip. He was relieved when she let out a breathy laugh.

“Sorry,” Eliza said. “I didn’t expect that.”

Being the romantic he was, Alexander turned her in his arms so that they were facing each other. Before he could woo her with loving words, however, his eyes fell to her dark red lips. They looked so succulent, so sweet. He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip as he cupped her cheeks before leaning in to give her a kiss. As he pressed his lips to hers, however, she hesitantly pulled away.

An awkwardness began to fill the room. He tried to make eye contact with his lovely Elizabeth, but it was near impossible. She pulled away from his grasp and continued on with cutting up Angelica’s chicken.

Alexander didn’t know what he did wrong, but he hoped that she would allow him to wrap his arms around her while they slept that night. With each passing day, she seemed more and more tentative. He wished he could talk to her about it, but any time he tried to, the conversation was shut down by a scream or a, “Mom! Angelica—”. That, or he was working.

Discouraged by his wife’s behavior, Alexander distanced himself from her and decided to make his own plate so he could eat in his nook. He almost  _never_ resorted to eating without his family, but lately, Eliza’s attitude was slowly pushing him away. Maybe he just needed to give in and give her space, so he was going to.

“Where are you going, Alexander. Aren’t you going to eat dinner with us?” Eliza said the minute he turned towards the archway leading to his nook. He looked back at her, eyes softening as he noticed how gloomy she seemed.

“Well, it seems that no one wants me in here,” Alexander admitted. “Philip ignored me and you completely dodged my good evening kiss.”

Eliza let out a sigh as she grabbed Angelica’s plate. A look of understanding crossed her features. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been under the weather and I don’t want to get you sick as well.”

Alexander could understand where she was coming from, but he didn’t exactly care that she was sick. He wanted to wrap her up his arms and pull her in for a long, romantic kiss. It was something he hadn’t done in a while.

Instead of stating that he didn’t care if she was sick, he set his plate down and walked over to the counter to grab Philip’s. It was a different way to show his appreciation of all that she did.

“So, how was your sick day, Ange?” Alexander asked once he set Philip’s plate in front of the boy and took a seat. His eyes diverted to the small child who’d already began to dig into her mashed potatoes before prayer. A look of guilt was in her eyes as she sat the fork down and slid her hands under her buttocks. It was quite comical, despite the fact that he was supposed to lecture her on eating before prayers.

“It was bad,” the girl said, trying to speak with her mouth full of mashed potatoes. She attempted to swallow it in one, big gulp but was unsuccessful. Coughing overwhelmed Angelica, the food in her mouth spraying across the table.

Philip made a sound of disgust and moved away from the table while Eliza got up quickly. Alexander paid no mind to either, however, as he patted Angelica’s back in hopes to help her cough up the food she was choking on.

After a fit of coughing, Angelica slowly leaned back in her chair and rested her head on its backrest. Her breathing was heavy and labored and the pink on her cheeks only intensified by how winded she was. It seemed that she was still sick.

Alexander made sure she was okay before looking up to ask Eliza a question, but she wasn’t there.

“She went to go throw up,” Philip muttered under his breath, barely filling his father in before going back to eating.

Instead of relying on his wife to clean up Angelica’s mess, Alexander got up himself and grabbed a paper towel.

“Did Mommy catch your bug, Princess?” Alexander asked upon returning, quickly cleaning up his daughter’s spit up and mentally thanking the heavens that it wasn’t actual throw up, unlike earlier from one of Eliza’s updates.

Angelica shrugged slightly, attempting to eat again. She gingerly grabbed her fork, scooped a smaller bite, and swallowed it before answering her father. “I dunno, Daddy. I think I got it from her. She throws up a lot—”

“—and you would notice if you actually spent time with us,” Philip finished, shooting Alexander an abhorrent glare before scooping up a bite of peas.

Alexander went to say something, but before he could, Eliza walked back into the kitchen, a bit of a green undertone illuminating from her skin. It was peculiar looking, but all color was for him at that moment. He went to go and help Eliza to her chair, but as he neared her, she held her hand up to keep him distanced.

“I’m okay. I just want to sit down and eat already,” she snapped, her face softening at  her harsh words. “Alexander, I—”

“It’s okay,” Alexander said in short. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and walked back to his plate, grabbing it so he could eat in the nook. He wasn’t wanted and the situation wasn’t going to fix itself with him simply sitting there, pretending that everything would be okay. So, as his wife and daughter called him back, he simply blocked out their voices and continued towards the nook.

Not too long after Alexander sat down and began to write down his thoughts again, a small voice beckoned for him in the corner of the room. Alexander turned slightly towards the noise, finding Angelica’s head peeking through the archway.

“What is it, Princess?” Alexander asked, turning back to his journal so he could finish off the last few words of the sentence he was writing.

Angelica only inched closer instead of replying. She reached him within seconds and sat at the feet of his chair, setting one hand on top of his leather shoe. “I will tell you when you finish.”

“I’ll be finished in a few chapters, sweetheart,” Alexander said mindlessly, not at all taking account of his daughter’s feelings.

He could tell, however, that she was a bit upset when she said, “Oh…okay. Bye, Daddy.” Her words dripped with disappointment.

Before he could reach out, she ran out of the room, her princess nightgown billowing behind her.

The man groaned, rubbing his hands over his face as he slumped back in his chair. His children surely thought he was a douchebag. Almost everyone did. That’s why he only had one friend, Gilbert de Lafayette. Even then, they barely talked so it was just Alexander and his pride and joy,  _Technicolor_.

After dwelling on his terrible parenting skills for a few minutes, Hamilton opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a few pictures which harbored fond memories. The minute his eyes laid on his former significant other, cradling him in his arms, he felt sadness flicker in his heart.

“You’d know what to do…” he muttered.

“Alexander.”

He looked up from the picture and towards the nook entrance. Eliza stood there, an unamused and saddened expression on her face. He felt guilty, but at the same time, he knew he was right. However, he should’ve relied on Elizabeth and he hadn’t as of late.

“Yes, my dear Eliza?” Alexander said, reaching out for her hand.

She ignored it.

Uncertainty swam around in her eyes for a brief second. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it right after her brow furrowed. The uncertainty changed to an aspect of distraught, almost.

“Don’t call me ‘Dear’, Alexander. I’m obviously not dear enough for you spend more than ten minutes with me.” Anger became obvious in her words, causing the guilt in Alexander to only spread.

He stood, hoping to reconcile, but Eliza was upset with him and it seemed she’d been for a while now. He knew he couldn’t fix the past, but once he finished his story, he would put his family first. That was a promise.

As he stepped closer, she stepped back, hugging herself in some form of comfort.

“Eliza, let me hug you, please,” Alexander almost begged as he just inched closer. Again, she stepped back. “Please let me hug the woman I love,” he continued, “it’s been too long.”

The defiance on her face relaxed into realization. Elizabeth slowly walked closer, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Fine,” she said.

A smile overtook Alexander’s face as he wrapped his sturdy arms around her and enveloped her in a hug. She seemed to instantly melt into his embrace as she wrapped her arms around him as well, nuzzling her flat nose into the crook of his neck. He missed the warmth, the love that flowed between the two and he couldn’t help but be grateful for her.

“Once I’m finished with the book, family first. I promise. No more neglect. I’ll go to every soccer game, every baseball game, every poetry slam, every dance recital. No excuses,” Alexander said, pressing loving kisses to her forehead. “I’ll make dinner every night. I’ll help the kids with homework. You say it and I’ll do it, I swear.”

A giggle made its way past Eliza’s thick lips as he flattered her and he couldn’t help but feel his heart swell with love. He leaned in for a kiss, and finally, she allowed him to fully press his lips to hers.

Alexander’s eyes closed as the familiar, euphoric feeling of love shot up his spine. He couldn’t help but smile as he wrapped his arms around her waist; he pulled away soon after, his eyes opening. The happiness that flitted in his soul slowly fizzled as he looked into her eyes and realized that they were gray in contrast with her pale features.

He pressed his lips together to conceal the frown on his face as he thought,  _I’m not supposed to be with you_. But Alexander could never say that. He loved Eliza far too much and he was determined at that moment that in the end, their love would prevail through all.

It seemed that Eliza picked up on his troubled state. She cupped his face and gingerly ran her thumb along his cheekbone. “What’s wrong? Do…you not like the way I kiss you anymore?”

Alexander hastily shook his head at Elizabeth’s assumption. “Of course I love the way you kiss me! I just…thought about something I didn’t finish at work today.”

Per usual, Elizabeth saw right through his lie and Alexander could tell by the unamused expression on her face. She didn’t say anything, however. Instead, she stepped out of his arms and headed towards the exit. “I’m helping the children with their homework. It would be nice if you helped me sometimes,” she said just as she walked out of the nook and into the foyer. Eliza disappeared a few seconds later.

A feeling of dread was beginning to creep up on Alexander. He was such a terrible liar. How was he going to pretend that he was okay when he was stressed over the fact that his arch-nemesis was his soulmate? How was he going to pretend that he was now almost completely certain that his family life was going to crumble? How was he going to pretend that he wasn’t stressed out over  _Technicolor_  or Thomas Jefferson? There was a shit-ton on his plate and he just had to pretend it was okay for the kids, but for Eliza? She knew there was an issue. The lack of communication between them was accumulating and it frightened Hamilton.

There were two things Alexander did in stressful moments such as this one: write or eat. Considering that his dinner was sitting beside his journal, he could do both and that was what he did.

Almost every night, Alexander would work ‘til the wee hours of the morning, making what he wrote flow with a graceful eloquence. He’d always been well versed, but when he was focused on what he wanted to write, it could take him quite some time. He was merely polishing his story now, but it still took up almost all of his time. That particular night, it took him until two in the morning to clean up the second to last chapter of his novel and once he was finished, he decided to call it a night.

Hamilton hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until he looked down at his watch. It was typical that he worked until two, but it still surprised him that he’d worked so vigorously for that long.

The man stood up after shutting his journal and raised his arms in the air, stretching out his back. After the usual couple of pops, Hamilton bent down to touch his toes. Again, a few pops filled the quiet study and once he was stretched out, he took his plate to the kitchen and rinsed it off. Then, he headed for bed.

Upon reaching his bedroom, Alexander found both children nestled in bed with Eliza. They were all asleep, comfortable, and spread out. He would’ve hated to wake one of them up, so he very quietly shed his day clothes and tossed them over the wicker chair in the corner of their room. He quickly and quietly tugged on some pajama pants on—and didn’t bother with a shirt—before slipping into bed with his family.

Out of instinct, Angelica, who was sleeping beside him, cuddled into his chest the minute he got comfortable. A warm sensation of belonging filled him as he wrapped his arms around his daughter, but dwindled when he remembered: this wasn’t supposed to be his life.

He was supposed to be in love with Thomas Jefferson.


	4. Chapter 4

Most weekday mornings, Alexander woke up to the blaring alarm of his bedside clock. He would quickly scramble to his feet and stretch before grabbing his work clothes for the day ahead. Then, he would spend forty-five minutes in the shower with thoughts swimming around his brain. That was what he considered to be normal, but now, in a sudden turn of events, his life was far from that.

That morning, Alexander was rudely awakened by a sudden kick to his groin, forcing him out of his slumber. He let out a howl in pain as he grabbed his crotch, waking everyone who shared the bed with him.

Angelica, the prime suspect of the problem, was the first to wake. Her eyes widened as she stared at her father, who now laid in a fetal position. She gently nudged him, but he just groaned.

The second to wake was Philip, but he couldn’t have been bothered to check on his father. He simply slipped back into a state of rest.

Finally, Eliza woke up and sat up immediately, leaning over their sleeping son slightly just to check on her husband. She gently nudged him with an open hand and whispered, “Alexander, are you alright?”

A pain-filled Alexander slowly lifted his head to peer into his wife’s grey eyes and forced a smile. He was about to say that he was, but the small debacle from the night before flooded his memories. To try to rid of the guilt, he shook his head. “Honestly, no.”

Eliza’s eyes quickly took in the scene. From what could be seen, Alexander was curled up and Angelica was sleepily rubbing her father’s arm. The factors led to the conclusion that Angelica had kicked Alexander in the nether region, so Eliza slid towards the edge of the bed and stood as soon as her feet touched the ground.

“Mommy, where are you going?” Angelica asked as she rubbed her father’s arm, her eyes following her mother as she inched towards the door.

“I’m getting ice, sweet pea,” her mother replied in a warm tone, slipping into the hallway before Angelica could ask any more meticulous questions.

While the two waited for Elizabeth to return with ice, Alexander decided to briefly examine his daughter’s health despite his injury. He placed a hand on Angelica’s forehead and tutted under his breath.

“Daddy, am I hot?” Angelica asked as soon as he withdrew his hand and rolled onto his back. Like any typical rowdy seven-year-old, the girl tucked herself into his side and leaned onto his chest. “Can I go to school?”

Alexander opened his eyes briefly to catch a glimpse of his daughter before closing them again, letting out a quiet grunt in pain. “Nope, still sick.”

Before Angelica could protest, Eliza walked back in the room. She flicked the lights on, causing Philip to pull the blankets over his head and Angelica to hiss.

Alexander reacted as well by opening his eyes and as soon as he did, his world stopped.

While he stared at the ceiling, he realized that it was painted a very light brown, and the walls surrounding him were a little darker. Different shades of colors bombarded him all of a sudden, stunning him nearly senseless. Over the course of his nearly-three-hour nap, the day before seemed to be washed over with pleasant dreams and he didn’t remember until just then.

“Alexander, are you alright?”

Eliza’s voice pulled Alexander from his nearly-hypnotic daze. He glanced over after a few seconds and took the ice from Eliza as she handed it over.

“I just remembered something,” he said, sitting up as he applied the ice to his crotch, “but I am okay. I should get ready, actually.”

“You don’t wanna stay in bed with us longer, Daddy?” Angelica said, words oozing with neediness. Alexander sat up and stretched out and she grabbed onto his arm, but he wriggled it from her grasp and turned towards her.

“I can’t, darling. Gotta get ready for the day! Now,” Alexander said, standing, “You go back to sleep and enjoy your day off, I—”

Alexander was cut off by Angelica, who stood up on the bed to match his height. She placed both hands on his shoulders and leaned in closely before saying, “You need to get my homework please.”

Her father let out a slight chuckle and nodded as he readjusted the icepack on his crotch. “I will, darling.”

Alexander was about to depart so he could grab his clothes from his closet, but before he did, he turned to Eliza and asked, “Need me to take Pip to school?”

Appreciation crossed Eliza’s features for a brief second, then she shook her head. “That’s fine, I’ve got it. Martha said she would watch Angie today, so I’ll be going to work.”

Alexander was about to reply, but Angelica bounded towards her mother, so he decided it was his time to carry on. After grabbing his clothes for the day ahead, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

* * *

It was six o’five when Alexander arrived to the firm. He reached the building by six o’seven and walked in at six o’eight. As he entered through the building’s brazen doors, he was overwhelmed by a melancholic mood.

He’d never noticed before, but the lights were so dim and the massive lobby seemed so…empty. The walls were coated with dull, light paint and the tiled floor was off white. There seemed to be shiny-yellow trimmings that bordered the walls of the large room, but that was the only source of life. Otherwise, it felt quite dead. Alexander wondered if anyone else found it to be abnormally depressing. He walked towards the gilded elevator and pressed its up button once he finished dwelling on his opinions.

The elevator doors parted and he stepped in, only to be hoisted to the top floor within a matter of thirty seconds, reaching the floor at ten past six.  _Optimal timing_  Hamilton thought. He walked onto his floor as soon as the doors drew open and was greeted with yet another dimly lit area.

“We need to talk to Washington about this,” Alexander audibly noted to himself, heading towards the break room. He didn’t manage to grab a coffee before he left—which was basically a sin—and he was going to need an energy boost before he started his day.

As the man walked closer towards the break room door, he realized that a bit of light was peeking from under the door. The only other person who was at the office that early was George, but he had a coffee machine in his office. Alexander never saw the man in the break room, so it had to be someone else.

Hamilton began to slowly open the door once he approached it, just so he could peek in without drawing attention to himself. The door had wide enough of a crack to look through within a few seconds, so he shuffled closer and glanced in.

When Alexander looked in, he noticed Thomas Jefferson was in there, sitting on the table that wobbled anytime someone touched it. He looked beyond exhausted. Under his eyes were bags that nearly matched Alexander’s, and his eyes were bloodshot. Although the lighting was terrible, Alexander also noted the giant bruise that spread across his nose. He couldn’t believe he gave that to Thomas, but at the same time, he deserved it.  

After observing Jefferson and his injuries for a few minutes, Alexander walked into the break room and greeted Thomas with a, “Morning.” A single acknowledgement would suffice, Alexander supposed, so he walked straight to the coffee pot, set his briefcase and keys down, grabbed his mug, and poured himself a cup.

Alexander didn’t expect a response from the man, but Thomas recognized him by letting out a grunt.

Slightly surprised, he turned around to face Thomas and, again, noticed just how exhausted he looked. Stress loomed over him, weighing his shoulders down in a slouch. His eyes were fixated on the floor, his hands wrapped around a water bottle. There seemed to be no pizzazz, no snark in the vivacious Jefferson. He just sat there, stiff.

To investigate, Alexander inched closer, and as he did, the air began to reek of alcohol. Alexander cursed under his breath.

Usually, Hamilton didn’t care what Jefferson did. It was Thomas’ career, after all. However, something felt amiss. He tried to walk away, to just leave the man be, but instead, he placed his coffee mug on the table and snatched the bottle from Thomas. Like he thought, the bottle was filled with some sort of alcohol.

“Hey!” Thomas said a few moments after, slowly trying to grab the bottle back from Alexander. He failed, and face-planted into the latter’s chest instead.

Thomas’ completely unprofessional behavior was alarming to Alexander. Although he hated the guy, he couldn’t deny that Thomas was just as, if not more, professional than him. The man he saw before him certainly wasn’t the Jefferson he knew.

Out of slight disgust and worry, Alexander moved to pour the alcohol down the sink but before he could, a loud thump echoed throughout the small break room.

Hamilton wanted to check if the idiot was okay as soon as he heard the noise, but he decided to pour the alcohol down the sink before George could walk in and investigate.

Thomas was still laying on the floor when Alexander was finished, which only made anxiety pulse through him. He hadn’t any idea why, but he was concerned. He kneeled next to Thomas and nudged him, pushing his panic aside.

The man groaned in response.

“Fucking Christ,” Alexander whispered, turning the man over on his back, and in that moment, he discovered why the usually boisterous man was nearly unresponsive.

Thomas Jefferson came to work while he was on a bad high.

Hamilton let out an irritated groan as he stood and grabbed onto Jefferson’s feet so he could drag the guy to his office. He’d be damned if he let Thomas get fired for such an immature action.

“You’re an idiot, you know?” Alexander grumbled as he began to pull Thomas, but soon stopped when he realized he needed his keys.

He continued with dragging Thomas once he grabbed them.

Thankfully, Washington didn’t wander out while Alexander pulled a drugged Thomas into his office or while he went back to grab his coffee, a wet washrag, and his briefcase. He wondered if their boss even knew Thomas was there, but boy did Alexander hope he didn’t.

 

A few hours passed. Alexander was already finished with all of his work for the quarter and George refused to give him next quarter one’s work, so what he would usually do was brainstorm new ideas for a stronger financial system or work on his story. Instead of doing either, he babysat Thomas, quite literally.

When Alexander returned with the wet rag, he locked the door and sat down with the man, and within those few hours, he was actually a calm voice for Thomas to listen to. He would periodically run the washcloth over his face and dampen it again when he needed to, but that whole time, Alexander sat with him, helping the man he hated through a bad trip.

He didn’t truly leave Thomas’ side until he seemed to come to.  The man sat up from Alexander’s lap and blinked a few times, allowing his eyes to wander the room, then turned to Alexander with a look of confusion on his face. “What happened?”

Alexander rose a brow in confusion, but let his expression settle when he remembered that he didn’t know what Thomas took. It wasn’t all that typical for someone to forget, but then again, he’d never been around someone who used hard drugs. His friends experimented, sure, but they never had a high as terrible as Thomas’.

“Well,” Alexander sighed, “you were having a bad trip from what I could tell. I really want to yell at you for being such a fucking idiot, but I need to use a calm voice because you’re probably still a bit high and I don’t want to stress you out.”

Again, Thomas looked confused, as if he didn’t know what Alexander was talking about, but the look soon melted into the face of bitter realization. His eyes turned to the floor as he leaned against the wall.

“I…was stressed out from our situation and I broke into a bad stash I used to use all of the time… I swore that I was never gonna use it again, but,” Thomas let out a pathetic laugh as he referenced to himself. “I’m really nothin’ but a fuck up, Alexander Hamilton, and this is the person you’re supposed to be in love with.”

Alexander was uncomfortable, to say the least. He’d never seen Thomas in such a vulnerable and pathetic position, but there he was, sitting on his office floor, high and probably drunk.

“Why’dja do it?” Thomas asked Alexander while he was still clouded with thoughts, “and how didja know how to take care of a person like me?”

A chortle erupted from Alexander before he turned to Thomas. In a quiet but distant tone, Alexander said, “You remind me of someone.”

Thomas looked like he wanted to ask, but instead, he didn’t. He turned towards the window they were in front of and peered out, taking note of the color of the sky and its beauty. “Blue.”

A smile flickered onto Alexander’s face. He was somewhat surprised Thomas had even researched anything, considering that he was completely denying the fact that they were soulmates. He turned towards the other man to say something, but Thomas held a hand up.

“Like I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said calmly.

Usually, Alexander would continue to push his buttons. It was different, for once. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to.

So, Alexander stood to his feet and held out a hand to help Thomas up. “You should get to work.”

Thomas nodded, agreeing with Alexander for once as he stood up, dismissing Alexander’s help. He did, however, say, “Uh…thanks for helping me out.”

Alexander replied with a shrug.

As they parted their separate ways, Thomas headed towards the door and Alexander to his desk, and while Alexander began to unpack things from his briefcase to start his day, Thomas stood there, watching him.

Without Alexander knowing, Thomas stared at him for a good few minutes before making himself known. He said, “So, how have I ruined your life so far?”

Alexander knew Thomas hadn’t left because he didn’t hear the door click closed, but the smooth voice still surprised him a bit. He turned around in his swivel chair to face the man, a dismal look crossing his face.

“Honestly?” Alexander asked, making sure he could proceed.

Thomas nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I came home, only to be surrounded by amazing colors and hues. I wanted to tell my children, I wanted them to see what I saw. I wanted them to know how magical it was. As soon as I saw my baby girl, though, I knew I couldn’t. Her eyes were so dull and gray…”

“Y’know, I’ve noticed that too,” Thomas interjected, gesturing to his eyes with his hand. “The eyes. It’s a ‘lil freaky.”

Alexander sent Thomas a glare before continuing with, “As I was saying, I saw her eyes and that was when I realized that I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell her that I could see in color! I couldn’t tell her how beautiful her hair and skin and clothes were because I could truly see them!” For a moment, Alexander took a couple of breaths to calm himself. He was a strong and argumentative man, but his heart ached anytime he knew his family would hurt.

“Anyway, I just ignored the color and walked into my kitchen, only to be met with a hesitant wife and an angry child. I tried to say hello to my son and he shoved me away, then I walked up to my wife and kissed her, only to have her push me away. Then we had a fight and I hurt Ange’s feelings, and—”

“You sound like a shit parent,” Thomas almost laughed, leaning against the wall as he nudged a curl out of his eyes.

Full offense was taken. Alexander narrowed his eyes as he stood up, walking closer towards Jefferson in a sudden turn of hostility. His usual, shit attitude was back and Alexander suddenly remembered how much he truly abhorred the man. “Like you know how to raise a fucking child, you would be a terrible father, shooting up stale drugs and shit. You’d be lucky if you even saw your kid. I would call CPS myself to make sure you’d never be able to lay a hand on their head.”

 Time seemed to stop the minute Alexander said what he did. Thomas’ smug look melted into a look of what seemed to be despair. Depression pooled in his eyes as he stared off into space, tears rolling down his cheeks soon after. He looked pale, and Alexander knew what he said was wrong, but instead of apologizing, he turned away and sat back down. He didn’t care that he said what he did, even if it upset Thomas to tears. He meant it. They were enemies. That was all.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, Thomas audibly made his way to the door and slammed it behind him so ferociously that it caused a few of the pictures on Alexander’s desk to fall on their faces. He wanted to yell at Thomas, but decided that it wasn’t worth it. He’d upset the man enough for whatever reason, so he decided to turn to his nearly-finished masterpiece.

 The only problem, however, was that he couldn’t get Thomas off of his mind. He hadn’t any idea of how he’d upset the man so much. Thomas never seemed to be the type of guy that wanted children or a family, but the minute Alexander brought up how terrible a father he would be, he cried? None of it seemed to make sense, but if he’d gotten to know Thomas more, maybe it would’ve.

The offer was tempting, and maybe it would explain why Thomas seemed to be such a godawful person to be around, but Alexander couldn’t take the bait. He needed to focus on his book so he could finish it. He needed to finish it so he could be with his family. He needed to be with his family so he could fix things. And he needed to fix things so they could be happy again.

So, instead of getting up and apologizing to the asshole across the office, he turned back to his written work and put his pen to paper.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was late, later than Eliza usually stayed up. She was perched on the couch, leaning against Alexander as they both mindlessly stared at the television screen. Both Alexander and Eliza were stiff, almost frigid as they leaned on each other, but they insisted on being close.

The last time they watched a TV show together had to be before Alexander started  _Technicolor_ , which made the whole event feel frightfully unfamiliar. But the two were set on having a night together. They were a married couple and it was about time they acted like one now that Alexander finally wrapped up his story.

“You never told me that you watched Jane the Virgin,” Eliza said in a monotonous tone. She shifted a bit in her seat, so Alexander tore his eyes from the screen and glanced at her.

He didn’t know how long she’d been looking at him, but she was peering at him with her eerily gray eyes. The way she was leaned against him looked strained, as well as the look on her face, as if she was holding something back.

“Oh, yeah… Gina Rodriguez is a good actress. I really just started today,” Alexander replied.

Eliza nodded, not taking her eyes off him. It was almost as if she was suspicious.

Alexander was beginning to become agitated. She was staring him down like he was suspect, like he did something. He was already feeling guilty as it was, Thomas’ harsh but true criticism of his family life constantly playing in his head. Eliza wasn’t making it any easier.

After a few more minutes, Alexander finally retracted from Eliza and crossed his arms over his chest. “What?” he asked in a regrettably gruff voice.

Eliza’s stare deteriorated immediately. Her eyes sunk, shoulders slouching. Alexander went to rest a hand on her arm, but she moved it from grasp’s reach. She spent a moment just staring at the ground, and when she looked back up, tears lined her beautifully dull eyes.

“When will we be a family again, Alexander? When will you go Angelica’s dance recitals? When will you support Pip at his soccer games, his poetry slams? When will you be there for me? When will we fix things?” Grief overtook Eliza. A sob rattled through her as she continued, asking, “When will your family be your main priority?”

Each word Eliza slung into the air only weighed Alexander down with guilt. Everything she said confirmed what Thomas said: he was a shitty father. Not only that. He was a shitty husband to Eliza. They had that conversation only the night before, but she distrusted him. It was apparent in how torn she seemed.

Before Alexander could reply, a crisp ringtone filled the silence. Both Hamiltons peered at the coffee table, finding Alexander’s phone pleading to be answered.

Just as Alexander went to grab it, Eliza swooped down and took it, staring at the caller ID with her mouth agape. “I-it’s Jefferson.”

 _Just when my night couldn’t get any worse_ , Alexander thought as he leaned against the back of the couch. He rested one arm atop of the back and rose a brow at Eliza. “Are you going to answer it?”

To no surprise, Eliza wasn’t pleased with Alexander’s snarky question. She snapped the iPhone in his direction and didn’t hesitate with dropping it in his lap. She pushed herself from the couch and stomped to and up the stairs, leaving Alexander alone with his buzzing phone.

“What the fuck do you want, Thomas?” Alexander asked when he answered. He didn’t have the time to talk, whatever it was. He had to make up for lost time with his wife and go on his hands and knees to beg for forgiveness… whether it be sexually or not.

“What the fuuuccckk do youuuu want, Alezzzzander?” Thomas slurred back, mocking him. From what Alexander could tell, he was wasted and considering previous events, probably rather high.

“Seriously,” Alexander snapped, “do you need me? Because I have a wife that is currently waiting to be begged for forgiveness and—”

Alexander stopped the minute he tuned into the phone call. Behind Thomas’ obnoxious voice was the sound of blaring music and drunken singing. Thomas was out. Drunk. High.

“Why did you call me?” Alexander asked again, not as defensively.

“You have a fuckin’ stiiiick up your azzzzz, Alezzander! Party with me!” he said with a surprising amount of seriousness.

Alexander had to stop himself from verbally executing Thomas over the phone. One moment he was nursing a high Jefferson at  _work_  and the next he was going to drive a drunk Jefferson home. What was the man’s problem?.

“Thomas, you should be  _home_ , sleeping. I’m not going to go to a nightclub to ‘party’ with you.”

A grumble emitted from the earpiece before Thomas said, “My houzzeee?”

Taking a deep breath, Alexander tried his damndest not to roll his eyes. Only a day before, Thomas confessed his burning hatred for him via a homophobic slur and now he wanted to party at his house? The phone call was beyond ridiculous, but Alexander said, “Fine.”

“Yay!” Thomas cheered, only making Alexander all the more uncomfortable. “Meet youuuuu there!”

“Wait, no—” Thomas hung up before Alexander could finish.

A lump began to form in his throat as he immediately called back. Thomas was not about to drive home as drunk as he was. If he had to, he would drive Thomas back to the club the next day just to pick up his car. No matter how much he abhorred Thomas, he didn’t despise him enough to let him put his life in serious danger.

“Alezzz!” Thomas laughed. “Wazzup?”

“How are you getting home?” he asked as he began to head towards the front door. He was glad he hadn’t gotten comfy, he was still in his work clothes, albeit his loosened tie and lack of a belt.

“Got a car, dumbazzz!” he cackled, carelessness practically dripping from his lips. Alexander could feel his heart pound more heavily in his chest.

“Thomas, let me pick you up.”

As the anxiety rose in Alexander, the quicker he picked up his pace. He shoved his feet into the shoes closest to him—which happened to be house shoes—and left the house with keys in hand.

“But—”

“I will  _murder_  you if you leave that fucking club,” Alexander screamed, indescribable tears rushing to his eyes. “I swear to god that I’ll strangle you myself!”

The other side of the line went silent for the most part.

“Where in the hell are you anyway?”

“Copaacabannnnnaaa.”

Just for a moment, Hamilton was stuck in time. Things oftentimes seemed to repeat themselves in his life, and this was something he did  _not_ want to be repeated. He took a deep breath and exhaled in an attempt to calm himself, but it didn’t work. “Stay there. Wait outside.”

The drive to the nightclub was a blur to Alexander. All he remembered were red lights, green lights, and bright orbs nearly blinding him. Everything was in a rush. Tight. Claustrophobic. His heart hammered in his chest, beyond terrified that the drunken Jefferson ignored his pleas. Alexander didn’t pray often, but in that moment, he begged God to keep Thomas from being a defiant fuck for once.

It felt like Alexander could breathe again when he rolled up next to Thomas’ Bentley. He tried to get a look in before he backed up into the space between the Bentley and a green Jaguar, but was unable to. He parallel parked behind Thomas.

As Alexander approached the Bentley, he found it to be empty. That was good, he guessed, but when he looked around, he found that Thomas wasn’t outside like Hamilton had commanded him to be.

Tears made Alexander’s vision bleary as he approached the club doors. Everything was all too familiar. Numbers of people swayed him back and forth to the rhythm of a Latin mix as he desperately tried to find the asshole he had to drag home. Thomas didn’t seem to be anywhere and after spending at least thirty minutes exploring all four floors—the rooftop included—Alexander gave up all hope and prayed that he went home with someone or decided to walk.

For whatever reason Thomas disappeared, Alexander was still beyond worried. He leaned against the wall outside of the Copacabana and hunched forward, trying to catch his breath. The late autumn breeze calmed him a bit, cooling his overheated body, but it didn’t keep him from trembling in sheer panic, nor did it keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

 Alexander never thought he would have cried over Thomas Jefferson. It was almost ridiculous that he was, but at the same time it was justified. Thomas made him see the world for what it was, colors and all. If he lost Thomas, he lost color and for once, he knew what his past lover felt. Color was exciting, enlightening, inspiring. Not only that, but  _Technicolor_  made so much more sense. If he lost Thomas, it would be as if he lost the world, again.

“Alezzzander!” a voice suddenly shouted from down the sidewalk. He looked up, noticing Thomas stride towards him in a surprisingly graceful fashion.

Whatever possessed Alexander surprised the both of them. The smaller man barreled down the sidewalk, only to pull Thomas in a bone-crushing hug. He buried his nose into Thomas’ chest and inhaled, noting that the night definitely worn on him. He smelled like alcohol and pot, but he was safe.

After a moment, Alexander noticed that he was hanging onto Thomas like his life depended on it. It was embarrassing that he was so relieved, but at the same time, it was good to know that he wasn’t dead.

Stepping away, Alexander noticed a cut above Thomas’ eyebrow and that his nose was bleeding excessively. A fight, no doubt. The man seemed to be asking to get punched in the last few days. He attempted to grab Thomas’ arm and guide him towards the car, but Thomas wouldn’t budge. To see what was the matter, Alexander turned around. Confusion was written all over his features, a strange amount of soberness swimming in his gleaming, brown eyes.

“Were ‘ya really that scared?” Thomas asked just above a whisper. For once, Jefferson looked softly at Alexander.

Although Hamilton didn’t want to admit it, he nodded. “More like terrified,” he mumbled.

Jefferson followed Hamilton to the car without a word. What needed to be said was already out, and surprisingly, none of what they wanted or had to say was harsh.

Alexander had to help Thomas in the car. The man nearly toppled just pulling on the door handle, and thanked Hamilton for the extra assistance. Once both were in and buckled up, Alexander took off down the road.

For a while, the car was silent. Nothing but the talk show Alexander wasn’t listening to on the way to the infamous nightclub filled the air, all until Thomas cleared his throat.

As he pressed the brakes to stop at a red light, Alexander glanced at Thomas through his peripheral. His chin was tilted upward, fingers pinching his nose to try and stop the bleeding. It was barely working.

Hesitantly, Alexander reached over and tilted Thomas’ head forward. “Looking up doesn’t help.”

 “Thanks, maaaannn,” Thomas drunkenly chuckled, going to wipe his nose with his white sleeve. Alexander yanked it away, his face scrunched up in disgust.

“That’s fucking disgusting, Thomas. Jesus Christ.” Before Alexander could continue lecturing Thomas, the light changed.  He continued down the road, sniffing.

There was a moment of quiet. Alexander was concentrated on the road and he didn’t know what was going through Thomas’ reckless mind. He didn’t exactly care to know, either. He was simply going to drop Jefferson off and go home. Considering he didn’t even announce his leave, Eliza was either suspicious or scared. As of late, she didn’t need either. The rift in their marriage was already bad enough.

“I’m not feeeeeeelin’ too well,” Thomas suddenly announced, causing Alexander to quietly groan.

“If you puke in my car—”

“Headache,” Thomas said, calming Alexander a bit.

Even though Alexander found Thomas, his heart was still hammering in his chest. His tears dried since parting from the nightclub, but heartache coursed through Alex. That very club changed his life for the best and worst reasons. The scenario was all too familiar, which left Alexander to do nothing but care for Thomas’ wellbeing in that moment.

Eventually, Alexander tuned back into the world and glanced over at Thomas. “Good.”

Ten minutes later, the duo reached Thomas’ lavish apartment. Even from the outside, Alexander could tell that Thomas paid a lot for the apartment he resided in.

“Gonna partayyyy?” Thomas laughed, nudging Alexander as he began to unbuckle.

For some odd reason, there was an impulse to joke with Thomas. Alexander laughed quietly, saying, “Gonna go home and sleep, actually.”

To Alexander’s surprise, Thomas looked offended. He pouted his plump bottom lip and batted those pretty, thick eyelashes. “Pleaseeeee, Hammy?”

Alexander groaned, unbuckling himself.  _You’re not getting out_ , he told himself. “No.”

Like a child, Thomas huffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Then I’m stayin’ here.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

For a couple of minutes, Alexander felt Thomas’ eyes bore into him. Hamilton hadn’t any clue as to why, all until he looked at the bigger man. He looked curious.

It seemed Thomas took the attention as an invitation to talk because he asked, “Why did’ja care ‘bout me driviiiin’ home?”

The question upset Alexander. Not only because he was greatly bothered by Thomas’ carelessness, but he was also unsure of why he truly cared. If they hated each other so much, why did he even pick up the phone?

Instead of confessing anything revealing, he said, “I just found my soulmate and now, I can actually understand what color is like.”

Thomas was too drunk to lecture him over talking about color, Alexander supposed as the latter nodded his head in thought. “Bullshit.”

Was Alexander really  _that_  bad at covering up the truth?

There needed to be a distractor, there had to be. Alexander wasn’t ready to get into the specifics of why he was physically affected by the thought of Thomas driving while drunk. So, he digressed the conversation.

“Why are you drinking and drugging up on a Thursday night? We have work tomorrow.” Alexander rose a patronizing brow.

At first, Thomas’ brows furrowed and his eyes fell to the floor of the car. His hands were anxiously entangled with each other and it seemed that he wouldn’t say a word. That was until anger replaced the look of sorrow.

Thomas’ dark eyes fell on Alexander, his heavy breathing becoming shallow and quick. Accusation sparkled in his eyes as he said, “You, Alexander.”

Everything clicked. Thomas had an addictive coping mechanism that put him in danger. As much as Alexander wanted to be gentle with the subject, he was never a gentle man. He was aggressive and competitive. He got where he was because of his attitude and hopefully, he could have some sort of breakthrough with Thomas the same way.

“You can’t do that to yourself, dumbass! What in the hell are you shooting up, anyway?” he said, surprised by the concern in his voice. “Why in the hell do you do this to yourself?”

Thomas laughed as if everything he said was hilarious, as if he wasn’t being serious. “And why do ‘ya care?”

Now, Jefferson was beginning to reach for the car handle so he could leave, but the conversation wasn’t over. Alexander locked the doors and pulled the key from the ignition. There was no getting out unless he wanted to wake the neighbors.

“Thomas, please just answer me. I need to know that you’re not killing yourself.” Defeat was laced in Alexander’s words.

A sense of soberness instilled in Thomas, as if he was himself and not his intoxicated persona. “I do it ‘cause it helps me forget.”

That was the moment that Alexander saw that there was more than one side to Thomas Jefferson. No, he wasn’t just the asshole that he worked with. There was more to it. Thomas Jefferson suffered a lot and Alexander saw it in his eyes. What he suffered, Alexander didn’t know, but he had a feeling that he would find out at some point or another.

“Is there no other way to forget?” Alexander quietly asked. He could hardly recognize his voice. It was soft, careful even.

A reluctant look was thrown in Alexander’s direction, but Thomas said, “A few, but my therapist don’t like the way I take it out on myself.”

To Alexander’s horror, Thomas began wringing his wrists.

Hot tears pricked Alexander’s eyes. Abusing drugs and alcohol wasn’t any better, but the fact that Thomas Jefferson, the cocky and charismatic COO of Blue Brook publishing company resorted to self-harm was nothing less than heartbreaking, even to Alexander.

As Hamilton shoved the key back into the ignition to unlock the car, he said, “You can’t do that, Thomas. That’s not okay.” He proceeded with getting out once he pulled the keys from the ignition.

“Look at you, tryin’ to help me.” A hopeless chuckle was forced from Jefferson. “You don’t really care.”

Sadly, Alexander wished he didn’t have to care. He wished that he hadn’t run into Thomas on that elevator. He wished he hadn’t helped Thomas through his bad trip. But there he was. Hamilton  _actually_  cared.

“I… do care, Thomas. I do care about your wellbeing.” A lump formed in his throat as he continued with, “We may hate the fact that we’re soulmates, but I’m not a fucking monster. I’m not going to let you kill yourself!”

Thomas wanted to say something. His lips parted and the words were about to roll off his tongue, but before he could speak, he stopped himself. Shaking his head, he said, “I just wanna go in.”

Alexander followed Thomas into the horribly magenta apartment. It was godawful, but he said nothing of it. He was too concerned about Thomas, the man that openly admitted his pain to the person he supposedly hated. Maybe hate was a strong word at that point. If Alexander truly hated Thomas, he would’ve let him put himself in a deadly situation.

As they inched their way farther in the house, Alexander noticed that Thomas was stumbling. So, he approached his side and wrapped an arm around him, acting as a guide.

“Where is the bathroom?” Alexander asked.

Thomas began to stumble in the direction, Alexander keeping him from falling.

“Okay, just sit back,” Alexander instructed once they were in the small half-bath. Thomas took it upon himself to sit on the edge of the sink and proceeded to pull his shirt off. Blood managed to drip onto it; Alexander would look up how to get blood stains out of fabric later.

“Just a fight? What happened?” Alexander knew small talk could be annoying, but he needed to know why he was searching for a washcloth to wipe the man’s face.

“I was on edge. Some guy was shit-talkin’ me. I got in his face, he threw a punch.” Thomas shrugged, making eye contact with Alexander once he turned to him with a washcloth in hand.

Wetting and wringing out the cloth, Alexander nodded and approached Thomas. He began to gently clean the dried blood that had rolled down his chin. “You’re acting up.”

“I’m not good with change.” Thomas shrugged in a matter-of-factly fashion.

“You’re mentally unstable.” Alexander glanced up, making eye contact with the guilt-ridden Thomas for a split second. He went back to cleaning him up. “You have any medication?”

“Yeah,” Thomas hesitantly admitted. “I-I haven’t been takin’ ‘em. But they help.”

At first, Alexander wanted to berate Thomas for neglecting the pills and depending on drugs, but he had to remind himself that it was an addiction. He was proud of himself for holding his tongue for once. At least Thomas knew he wasn’t supposed to mix pills and alcohol.

For a few moments, silence filled the small space between them. Alexander tenderly washed Thomas’ face and the latter patiently sat there, observing him.

After a moment or two, Thomas broke the silence. “I’m sorry for callin’ you a shitty dad.”

The apology caught Alexander off guard. Setting the towel aside, he made eye contact with Thomas and cracked a pathetic-looking smile. “I wish you were wrong about me being a shitty dad.”

Alexander wanted to punch himself in the face for being so vulnerable around Jefferson, but at the same time, he knew that it wasn’t a time to be defensive. It was, however, a time to make amends. They were both laid back for once, and there was really nothing to disagree over.

So, Hamilton decided that he had his own confession to make.

“I’m sure you would be a great father, Thomas. I-I… can’t apologize for wanting your hypothetical kids to be in a safe place if you’re abusing drugs, but I can say that I think you would be a good father if you… you know, bettered yourself.” Alexander tried to read Thomas’ expression. For a moment, he looked to be in a state of reminiscence, but the small smile turned into an unforgiving frown.

“Excuse me,” Thomas whimpered, pushing himself off the sink. He stumbled past Hamilton and down the hallway to what seemed to be his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, then locked the door behind him.

There wasn’t an option to leave. The state Thomas was in was alarming; leaving him alone would do no good.

So, Alexander made his way to the couch and took a seat. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was until his eyelids began to weigh heavy and he yawned every other minute. Allowing himself to get comfy, he sprawled across the length of the couch and closed his eyes just to “rest them”.

Within moments, Alexander was out like a light.


	6. Chapter 6

           When Hamilton woke up the next morning, he was surprised by the sunshine that filled the magenta-colored room. The day and time were beyond him in that moment. The fact that he woke in an unfamiliar place was enough to make him feel nauseous. It brought him back to his days in college, fucking around with whoever was drunk enough to take him home. But this was different. He had a family at home, a broken family and Eliza was probably terrified to find that he was missing. Sleep overtook him before he could call or text or email anything assuring. There was one thing Alexander knew in that moment and it was that she was going to be pissed.

After spending a moment lamenting over the conversation he was going to have with Eliza later, he sat up and looked around for what woke him up: his phone.

Alexander was unsure if it was Eliza or not. She was already at work, probably just starting class with her zombie-like high school students. It also could’ve been Washington, asking where he was and why he wasn’t at work. Then it hit him.

For once in his life, Alexander Hamilton was beyond late to work.

“Fucking shit!” Alexander yelped, finally finding his phone. It was under the couch, but was close enough for him to grab it without lifting the sofa.

To his surprise, it _was_ Eliza. And she had called him _forty-two_ times.

“Shit, shit, _shit_!” Alexander said, calling her back. He was in _so_ much trouble.

Eliza answered right away, letting out a hefty sigh. “I thought you were dead!”

“By the tone you’re using, I probably will be by the end of tonight,” Alexander tried to joke. “Listen, Liza, I got caught up in something. I meant to call you but I was just so tired and—”

“You’re making excuses, Alexander.” Eliza was nowhere near amused, nor did she sound angry. Exhaustion was clear in her voice. “Why were you out all night?”

“Oh, you’re up!” another voice suddenly said, causing Alexander to freeze in his seat. Thanks to Thomas, Eliza probably thought that Alexander was sleeping around. He wasn’t 

exactly always there and she was already suspicious.

“Was that… Thomas Jefferson?” Eliza surprisingly sounded amused.

Thomas must’ve not noticed that Alexander was on the phone. He took a seat on a chair across the living room and crossed his legs. “If you wanna go home and change, we better get going.”

For a moment, Alexander tuned out of the phone call and gawked at Thomas. “We’re late as fuck.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Thomas asked, “You need new clothes. I mean, you got… that.” He pointed to his left cuff, so Alexander looked at his own. Sure enough, there was a dark, large bloodstain on the cuff of his shirt.

“Maybe you could, I don’t know, lend me a shirt?” Alexander said, shooting Thomas a semi-hostile glare.

“What about a belt?” Thomas cockily rose a brow.

“Just let me borrow a fucking shirt, Thomas,” Alexander growled. “And maybe explain to my wife _why_ I fell asleep at your apartment.”

Alarm visibly rested on Thomas’ face. “It’s pathetic…”

Standing up, Alexander swiftly made his way to Thomas and held out the phone for him to take. “You should have made me leave last night, then.” Alexander made his way to Thomas’ bedroom after shoving the phone into his hands.

Hamilton was surprised to walk into a mundane, plum colored room. Then, last night’s conversation reminded him that Thomas wasn’t just the asshole co-worker that tried to rub him the wrong way. He was Thomas Jefferson, the man with several layers that Alexander would see at one point or another.

Opening the closet, he found that the light was already on and that the space was very, _very_ purple. Alexander hadn’t any idea how they both had a natural inclination to a certain color, but it was a little bit fascinating when he truly thought about it.

Shoving the wonder aside, Alexander grabbed the smallest shirt he could find and closed the closet door, flipping the light off as well.

A few minutes and a bout of self-consciousness later, Alexander walked out of the bedroom in a lavender dress shirt, his pine-green tie tightened around his neck. The shirt didn’t exactly fit as he would have liked it to; his belly poked out slightly, to his dismay. But everything else was too big for Alexander to wear. Thomas was a very, very muscular man and those extra-larges proved so.

“You know, Mrs. Hamilton, Alexander actually really helped me last night. I understand that you’re upset. Trust me, I would’a been too, but Hammy wouldn’t let me drive home drunk,” Thomas said, not noticing that Alexander was eavesdropping.

Thomas rose an inquisitive brow at what Eliza had to say, then replied with, “No, he didn’t tell me why… Okay, I won’t talk to him about it… Oh, okay. Yes, have a good day! I’ll deliver the message! Bye!”

After giving it about thirty seconds, Hamilton rounded the corner and rose a brow. “What’d she say?”

Thomas let out a surprisingly cheerful laugh. “You’re in _big_ trouble.”

Shrugging, Alexander asked, “Anything else?”

“No.” Thomas stood up and held the phone out for Alexander to take. “That shirt looks nice on you.”

Both men were surprised by the sudden compliment, enough to make each of them blush. But they played it off as they made their way for the door.

“When will we pick up the Bentley?” Thomas asked as they wandered towards the car. It seemed that he wasn’t even affected by the night before despite the cut above his eyebrow. But Alexander remembered that Thomas was pretty bugged out. There would be withdrawals, most likely, which made a protective side of Alexander turn to Thomas as soon as they were both buckled in.

“We’ll get it during lunch break. How are you feeling? Will you need someone with you while you’re having withdrawals?” The concern in Alexander’s voice visibly surprised Thomas.

“I… uh, it’s only been a few days since I started usin’ again, but I might get chills or somethin’ at most… the peak’s a few days in, if you’re really all that concerned.”

Alexander nodded before taking off down the road.

The drive wasn’t too terribly long. Rush hour was over, but New York City was always bustling with tourists. Thankfully, however, they managed to find a route that got them there in a little less than ten minutes.

Alexander was quick to park and climbed out of the car, tossing his keys to Thomas so he could reach the office quicker. Washington was going to be disappointed in his tardiness. Jefferson, on the other hand, was almost always expected to be late.

“Alexander, what do you expect me to do with—”

“Just lock the door,” Alexander spoke in a rush, cursing himself for not even having his briefcase. He slammed the car door and began to make his way toward the skyscraper.

Thomas caught up with him, letting out a chuckle once he was at the smaller man’s side. “Why are you hustlin’?”

“I don’t know, why didn’t you wake me up and tell me to go home?!” Alexander involuntarily snapped, going back to his old ways. He pushed the door open and didn’t bother holding it for Thomas. He barreled towards the golden elevator, hoping to catch the next ride up.

“I thought you left and when I got up to start gettin’ ready, you looked dead tired. You really don’t sleep much, do you?”

“What’s it to you, Thomas?” Alexander said, smashing the up button with his index finger. “Just mind your own business.”

“Hey,” Thomas said sternly, but not angrily, “if your financial decisions are impaired due to lack of sleep, your business _is_ my business. I work here too.”

Thomas had a point.

Before Alexander could reply, the elevator dinged and the doors parted, allowing them to step on.

Considering that the elevator was spacious, it was strange that the men stood together, not even a foot away from each other. At first, neither noticed, but then Alexander glanced over and took a step away.

“Personal space,” he muttered more to himself before looking down. Hamilton was a mess. No belt, no briefcase, his eating habits were beginning to show again, and his long, dark hair looked like an oil slick because he didn’t take a shower. Not to mention that he was wearing house shoes to work. He looked ridiculous and he was feeling it as well.

The elevator jolted to a halt suddenly, so Alexander looked up, seeing Aaron Burr standing there.

“Should I just wait?” he asked. “Or…”

“Just get in,” Thomas mumbled, sounding almost annoyed.

Burr stepped in after a moment of hesitation.

Instead of a silent journey up to the top floor, Aaron turned to Alexander and said, “You look like a mess.”

“Blame this motherfucker,” Alexander grumbled, pointing an accusatory finger at Thomas. The latter gasped.

“I told you that we could stop at your house but you just _had_ ’a be at work on time—”

“Holy shit!” Aaron said suddenly, his temper lost. “Is it impossible for you two to, I don’t know, get along?!” The man went from glaring at one person to the other, roughly crossing his arms over his chest. “You drive the whole office insane! All you do is yell and gripe at each other! Christ, Hamilton, Jefferson.”

The short-lived rant ended the minute the elevator doors opened. Aaron stepped out, leaving the two for the board room.

“Wow, he exploded,” Alexander said, amusement in his voice as he exited the elevator. He turned to Thomas and cracked a smile.

Thomas surprisingly smiled back, letting out a chortle. Then, he began to look around and pointing that everyone was in the boardroom, staring at them through the glass panes. Washington was watching as well, a mixture of concern and surprise on his face.

“There’s a board meeting today?” Thomas quietly asked as they headed towards the boardroom.

Alexander shrugged in response. “Last minute, I guess.”

Hushed whispers filled the air as the two entered the room. Some voices sound panicked, some amused. That wasn’t what drew Alexander’s attention, however. The look of concern on George’s face did.

As Alexander took his seat next to the head of the table, George nudged him. Hamilton looked at him, his brow cocked.

“Are you okay? I know Martha watched Angelica yesterday and I just… assumed you were home with her.” Alexander was relieved that George wasn’t upset, just worried.

“Long story short, I had to pick Thomas up and accidentally fell asleep on his couch. That’s why I am a complete mess… I’m surprised Eliza didn’t call and see if I was over at your house.” Alexander shook his head and folded his hands, casting his gaze towards Jefferson. He was having his own exchange with Madison.

“Wait, what?” Washington said, stifling a laugh. “You and—”

“Yes, yes,” Alexander groaned, waving his boss off. “Can we please just start this unexpected board meeting?”

The meeting started promptly after Alexander’s request. Catherine noted the beginning time, then turned to George, nodding.

“So,” he said, standing from his brown, leather chair. Clapping his hands together, he panned the room, saying, “this isn’t an issue, necessarily. It’s more so a decision-making meeting. Everyone’s opinions are wanted here. Anyway, what season is it?”

Another round of hushed speaking filled the room until James Madison asked, “ _Season_ season or season?” His question was followed by a snotty sneeze.

Washington looked unamused as he asked, “What holiday is approaching us?”

“Christmas,” Alexander mumbled, earning a nod from George.

“Yes, Christmas! You know what that means! We are…”

What Washington was saying seemed to fade away as Alexander’s eyes fell on Thomas. He was sitting there, not paying much mind either as he messed with the cuffs of his sleeves. His brows were furrowed, his bottom lip jutted out as he focused on his golden cuff link. For some reason, Alexander wanted to compliment the get up Thomas was in, pin-striped suit and all. Before he could think of being nice to Thomas any further, George pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Christmas party!” George practically yelled, showing off his gapped smile.

Alexander was going to ask who it was for, but decided to stay quiet since he wasn’t listening and was sure George already stated the event. Probably not for them, they worked non-stop, even through Christmas. _But_ Alexander took off every year to spend time with family… which he probably needed to schedule the time off for, given that it was the second day of December.

“So… at Mercy First. That’s Catholic, isn’t it?” James Madison asked.

George nodded, saying, “Exactly, and that’s why I need an opinion. The orphanage is looking for an endorsement and since we have a little more money than we need, I have decided that we should show Mercy First that _we_ are the company that should support them. We don’t exactly have competition, but who knows? I think it would be good to throw a party for these children. Now, why I need an opinion…” George pushed his seat in, placing his hands atop of the large chair after. “Since it _is_ Catholic orphanage, the question is: secular or true to Christianity? Also, decorations and how to plug our children’s books. I purchased some decorations already, but any ideas would be appreciated.”

Thomas stood up just as the last syllable rolled off George’s tongue. He was obviously still thinking as his eyes seemed to wander around the ceiling, but he quickly collected his thoughts and migrated towards George, wrapping his arm around his boss as he panned his hand across the boardroom, saying, “Picture this.”

George closed his eyes. “Continue.”

“We rent out a room at Jacob K. Javits… there are several creative people on our team, so why not make it a winter wonderland? Snowflakes, candy canes, reindeer frolickin’ the room—”

“Budget,” Alexander interrupted with an amused look on his face. Thomas was reaching. “There’s a budget and I’m pretty sure renting out a ‘reindeer’ will put us far over that budget.”

Shooting a glare at Alexander, Thomas said, “Don’t kill my vibe, anyway…”

Thomas went on to describe a picturesque vision of a Christmas day: Santa sitting by a cozy looking hearth, reading Blue Brook children’s stories and listening to holiday wishes. Stockings with each of the children’s names hanging by the fireplace. Cookie making, wish list stations, a small space for Christmas karaoke. It all seemed very appealing.

“The nativity, however, doesn’t _have_ to be there. It’s a Catholic orphanage, yes, but unless they request one, I do not think we need to involve it.”

Out of sheer instinct, Alexander dramatically stood, holding a lecturing index finger in Thomas’ direction. He went to oppose Thomas’ idea, but there was nothing to disagree with. The idea held enough magic for the kids and enough imagination for the adults putting the decorations together. The look of determination that made its way on to Alexander’s face at one point deteriorated into a look of defeat.

“I-I agree with Thomas’ idea,” he said for once.

_Everyone_ gasped as Alexander took a seat, even Jefferson. His eyes were wide, jaw practically hitting the floor.

Aaron Burr looked the most shocked, however, and amused as well as he asked, “Did you _really_ just agree with Thomas Jefferson?”

The entire company of co-workers were being ridiculous. Alexander rolled his eyes as he said, “We’re talking about a Christmas party, not the company’s politics.”

“Plus anyone could easily come up with a brilliant Christmas party idea,” Madison said. “I know five-year-olds who could—”

“ _ Hey _ !” Thomas said, offended.

James just shrugged.

“Well,” Washington laughed awkwardly. “Any other ideas?”

No one had anything to say, so George hastily nodded and glanced at the notes he had sitting out.

“Now, who should be our Santa?”

Alexander never pointed towards Thomas as fast as he did that day. While everyone looked around to see who would look most like him in a suit, Alexander didn’t hesitate to yell, “Thomas!”

The curly headed man’s attention snapped towards him, eyes widened in horror. “ _Me_?”

Something similar to a smirk made its way to Alexander’s lips. “I’ll pay you fifty dollars.”

Consideration crossed Thomas’ Afrocentric features, then he made eye contact with Alexander and plastered on a grin. “Fifty dollars _and_ you dress up as an elf.”

“I am _not_ dressing up as an elf!” Alexander said, laughing. “You’d have to be an idiot to think I would do _that_.”

Thomas just shrugged. “Then I won’t be Santa.”

The typical stare-down they had each meeting hushed the entire room. Alexander’s goal was clear: to break Thomas, forcing him into the role of Santa Claus. Thomas was trying to drag Alexander down with him.

For a good five minutes, the boardroom stayed silent, all until John Adams attempted to speak up.

“I’ll be Santa—”

“ _Ugh_ , fine!” Hamilton yelled. “I’ll be your goddamned elf!”

“It’s settled then,” Washington said less than enthusiastically. “Now, onto other matters, we are…”

Whatever George said, Alexander didn’t hear it. He was too focused on the cocky smirk Thomas was wearing.

It took a few minutes for Thomas to notice, but once he made eye contact with Alexander, he mouthed, ‘Checkmate, asshole.’

The rest of the day steadily moved along. During lunch break, Alexander took Thomas to pick up his Bentley, but that was uneventful. Thomas was in a business phone call on the drive over and since they drove back separately, there wasn’t anyone to talk to.

When he returned, he did nothing but watch Jane the Virgin and come up with ways to apologize to Eliza while stress eating an entire bag of chips he bought on the way back to work.

It wasn’t until he was packing up for the day that he had any sort of human interaction. Someone knocked on the door and Hamilton opened it to find Aaron standing there with a card and bouquet of flowers in hand. He held them out for Alexander to take.

“For you… If you need anything, let me know. Oh, and sorry for yelling on the elevator. I was out of line.” Burr flashed a semi-sincere smile before walking off, leaving Alexander confused.

Hamilton took seat, looking over the card. His name was beautifully scrawled in calligraphy on the front, making him curious of the occasion. He carefully opened the envelope, pulling out a “Get Well Soon” card.

“ _ Get Well Soon _ ?” Alexander almost laughed as he opened the five by seven card. It seemed that everyone on the top floor signed it, including Washington. A guffaw managed its way out of Alexander.

“What is  _ that _ ?” someone said, drawing in Alexander’s attention. Thomas was standing there, briefcase in hand.

“A get well soon card…” Alexander’s eyes scanned the notes. “…for agreeing with you.”

“ _ What _ ?” Thomas laughed as he made his way over, taking the card from Alexander. “ _ We can tell there is something wrong. I am right next to door if you need  _ **_anything_ ** _. G dot Wash. _ ” Thomas laughed again, louder, and Alexander laughed along.

“I’ve never been given something so ridiculous in my life!” Hamilton continued laughing, tucking the card into its envelope. “A get-well card for agreeing with you…”

Thomas laughed again, but it was no longer charged with the same charismatic energy it usually held. Alexander turned around, noticing the difference, and frowned when he saw Thomas’ expression. He looked crestfallen.

“I… Uh, wanted to thank you for last night,” Thomas said. “If you weren’t there, I would’a probably made a lot of bad decisions. I needed your consciousness. Oh… and please don’t tell anyone about, you know…”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Alexander assured, standing up. He glanced over at the bouquet and decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time to give up the “mortal enemy” status. He gingerly plucked a single, artificially green carnation from the bouquet and held it out for Thomas to take. “Are you going to stay safe tonight?”

The man blinked a couple of times, surprise clearly on his face. He grasped the carnation and sweetly smiled at Alexander before nodding. “The gym.”

Of course. Alexander spared him a smile. “Okay… just… call me if you need anyone or anything.”

“I will,” Thomas said before leaving.

After a long day at work, Alexander went home as well.


	7. Chapter 7

           It was half past six when Alexander got home. Although the day was short, it felt long and he was happy to see the terracotta-colored bricks of his New York townhouse. All he desired to do was relax, unwind, and be with his family.

That was if Eliza didn’t kill him for being out all night without mentioning it beforehand.

Admittedly, he was nervous. In the rare occurrences that Alexander and Eliza had fights, they were usually bitter and drawn out. There were times when the two wouldn’t talk for days and Alexander would have to sleep on the couch. Alexander always wanted to talk more while Eliza needed her space, and if she didn’t get any, she would only isolate herself further. It was unhealthy, but it was Eliza. She wasn’t completely neurotypical.

Stepping into the house, Alexander inhaled a mixture of baked chicken and mulled cider. Dinner was either already ready or simply sitting out, waiting to be eaten. There wasn’t any sort of tight dinner schedule… the food was ready when it was ready.

Turning into his study, Alexander found Eliza sitting on the loveseat near the archway leading to the kitchen. A mug was in her hand, filled with a steaming cup of cider. Her eyes were practically shooting lasers through him.

_If looks could kill_ , he thought as he kicked off his house shoes and took a seat in his swivel chair across the room.

“Where are the children?” Alexander asked before anything else was said. Alexander nor Eliza cussed (at home), but the fighting could get loud. Alexander was flamboyantly argumentative: Eliza wasn’t the most of the time, but there were a couple of circumstances when she needed to be.

Alexander’s wife took a sip of her cider. “Upstairs, watching a movie on full blast.”

Despite the need to laugh, Alexander kept a straight face as he nodded. “Okay. Good.”

A moment of silence sobered Alexander. Preparedness was something he found that he needed. To get his ducks in a row, he thought back on anything he did that appeared slightly suspicious and found its correlating reason why. He had to make sure Eliza was convinced that he wasn’t cheating… well, because he wasn’t.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Eliza asked the same question from the night before. “When will your family be your main priority?”

Any trace of emotion was lost. Eliza was completely withdrawn from herself.

“I’m finished with _Technicolor_ , Liza. Plus… John was our family.”

Something Alexander said flipped a switch in Eliza; she stood, glaring down at Alexander with a fire burning in her eyes.

“Think about your _living_ family for a second, Alexander!” Eliza slammed her mug onto the wood coffee table, disregarding the backsplash that coated her leg in the sticky warmth of the beverage. “When will you go to my open houses? When will you watch Pip play soccer? When will you help me with the grocery shopping? When will you watch Angelica’s dance recitals?” An angry chuckle bubbled out of Eliza. “Do you even know what they’re doing for their winter show and _who_ she is going to be?”

“I don’t—”

“Clara!” Eliza yelled, visibly fighting back tears. “ _Your_ daughter is going to be Clara in the Nutcracker but you don’t know that because your stupid book is more important than your family!”

Watching Eliza crumble broke Alexander’s heart and frankly, it made him feel like a monster. At the end of the day, _he_ broke the family. He paid more attention to a book than he did his own wife and children. Eliza had every right to be angry.

Sitting back down, Eliza attempted to hold herself together by hugging a pillow to her chest. The coping mechanism wasn’t working; she was shaking like a leaf. “I-I don’t know what to expect from you anymore, Alexander. I really don’t.”

The minute the first tear fell, Alexander rushed to Eliza’s side and pulled her into him. To his surprise, she didn’t fight it.

“Liza… I’m done. I’m all done. I finished the book yesterday. My undivided attention is on you, on the kids now. I promise,” he said sincerely.

“What happens when you publish it and become famous? You’ll leave for book tours all around the world, talking about the past. What if you fall in love with the past and leave the four of us behind?”

_Four_?

Alexander was unsure of what Eliza meant by four, four of who? Eliza, Philip, Angelica…

“You’re pregnant.” Shock filled Alexander; he searched Eliza’s face for any type of confirmation.

Eyes diverting to the floor, she nodded.

The shock was replaced with a wide grin and grateful tears in his eyes. His hands fell to her stomach immediately, gently caressing her still-flat stomach. “How long have you known, Eliza? How did this happen? You should've told me!”

As far as he knew, she was on birth control.

“I found out when I was home with Angelica… and went to the doctor when she was with today. I-I’m ten weeks along.” Her voice was light, forlorn.

Alexander blamed himself.

“The doctor took out the IUD right away, but she said that it needed to be monitored closely since I did get pregnant with one in place.” Eliza sniffed. “There’s a twenty-five percent of miscarriage… so that was why I was scared of telling you about it… but I was also scared that you wouldn’t be there to care if I did… miscarry.”

“Oh, Eliza,” Alexander crooned, squeezing her. He peppered a thousand and one kisses to the top of her head, saying, “I would never let you suffer in silence—I’m not that type of person.”

“The thing is,” Eliza whimpered, “I really don’t know who you are anymore… or if I want to be a mom again.”

It wasn’t Alexander’s place to tell her that she couldn’t get an abortion. He wasn’t in control of her body, and he knew that. But the mere mention of uncertainty caused Alexander to let out a stifled sob. He didn’t cry much, but what Eliza said… it broke his heart. That wasn’t the only reason his heart ached, however. His wife admitted that she barely had any connection with him. He knew he screwed up, but he didn’t know he screwed up _that_ bad.

“I know that this won’t mend the scars I’ve inflicted on this family, _my_ family, but I am so deeply sorry,” Alexander said through his own, rattling cries. “Let me show you! I’ll be there for everything, Eliza, _everything_. The pregnancy, Philip’s games, poetry slams, Angelica’s recitals. Share the schedule with me. Let me be a part of this family, let me show you that you mean the world to me!” Alexander sunk to his knees, taking her hands in his. He rolled the wedding band she wore between his fingers and said, “Let me show you how sorry I am for abandoning you. I promised you I would when I finished only a few days ago, I'm promising you again. _Please_. ”

Eliza looked taken aback, but the surprise in her eyes faded as she mumbled, “Give me time to think about it.”

A minute later, Alexander was all alone in his study, a complete and utter tear-filled mess.

          For a good thirty minutes, Alexander sat down, ate, and wrote out his game plan. It consisted of chores such as loading the dishwasher and doing laundry, taking the family on a picnic in Central Park every weekend, and taking the children to practice when need be. He also talked to Washington about it, who encouraged him to work at home if he needed to, but most of everything, including practices, happened later in the day.

It wasn’t until about ten after seven that Alexander left his study for the night.

For once, he was going to spend his time with the kids.

Philip and Angelica were sitting on the loveseat, eyes glued on Hercules when Alexander meandered into the children’s playroom. They hadn’t even noticed him until he took a seat. Philip paused the movie right away and Angelica took the opportunity to sit in her father’s lap.

It’d been years since she’d sat in his lap.

“I thought Mommy and you were gonna fight, Daddy,” Angelica whispered, resting her head on his chest. “She only plays Hercules when you guys fight.”

Out of out-of-practice instinct, Alexander began to run his hand up and down his baby girl’s back. “I thought we were gonna fight too, Ange… but we didn’t. We just cried.”

Angelica perked up, her curled hair bouncing as she lifted her head from his chest. She itched her shoulder, just where the scratchy material of her Rapunzel dress rested and cocked her head. She squinted her eyes to get a better look, Alexander guessed, before a frown formed on her face. “Why were you crying, Daddy? Why was Mommy crying?”

Alexander didn’t know about mentioning the sibling that was on the way, considering that Eliza didn’t even know if she wanted them. He bit his lip, looking for something appropriate to tell the children. Telling them that he was a shit father wouldn’t cut it.

Before he answered Angelica’s question, Alexander glanced at Philip. He was sitting on the other end of the loveseat, knees pulled to his chest as he observed the father and his daughter.

“Mommy was crying because she missed me being around and she wants what’s best for our family.” Alexander squeezed Angelica, an insisting smile on his face. She smiled back. “I was crying because I realized that while I was writing my book, I wasn’t paying attention to the important stuff, to you or Philip or Mommy.”

“Were you cheating, father?” Philip suddenly asked.

_Father_ didn’t sound right, but Philip was being Philip.

“No, _no_ , I could _never_ do that to your mother!” Alexander assured, but the chipper attitude he held disintegrated. Were the children’s standards _that_ low? “Never, I could never do that.”

Alexander didn’t realize he was crying until Angelica’s little hand wiped the tears from his face. “Don’t cry, Daddy. I love you!”

That only made Alexander cry harder.

Angelica, and surprisingly Philip, took Alexander into their arms and hugged him. He missed this, he missed the unconditional love the children had for him. Even after spending a solid three years on not being there for him, they took him in with open arms. Philip acted more hesitantly; he was just barely holding onto Alexander, but he was still there instead of across the couch.

“Never again,” Alexander cried, caressing Angelica’s cheek. “I will never abandon you two again. You guys and Mommy are my dream team. Never again.”

Alexander sat there for a while, holding his children. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. Philip was six, Angelica four. The occasion was unclear, but it had to do with Alexander’s own insecurity.

Then he remembered. It was after a strenuous day at work. He messed up, big time. After taking it out on himself, he held the kids and they cheered him up. That was a simpler time, a time before he was a neglectful ass of a father, a time where Eliza smiled and the kids welcomed him home with open arms. That was no longer the case. He lost all the privileges of being a father in surrender of his deepest afflictions.

There was no one to talk to anymore, no one to cry on. Eliza was distant. The children barely knew who he was. Stuck. That was what he was. And in that moment, as he sat there in reunion with the children, he wished he had someone to talk to.

The first name that came to mind was Thomas.

Shaking his head, Alexander sat up. There _had_ to be somebody else. Angelica went up with him, clinging to his body. Philip squirmed away.

           “You two go to the master bedroom when the movie is over. I think we should have a big, nice family cuddle.” Alexander smiled gingerly, standing up with Angelica still hanging off him. He pressed a loving kiss to her forehead before making his way to the door.

“Pop?” a weak voice suddenly beckoned.

Alexander turned around, his eyes landing on a surprisingly vulnerable-looking Philip. “Yes, sweetheart?”

A conflicted look formed on Philip’s freckled features, brows scrunched and lips pursed. “Did grandad have a lot of freckles and unattached earlobes…? We were talking about dominant and recessive genes in science today and… there a lot of genes that don’t make sense for me.”

Anxiety left a tight, almost suffocating, feeling in Alexander. He felt his heart rate speed up and his palms go clammy. It was a rarity for Alexander to keep his shit together in a moment of confrontation, but he did so as he squeaked out a, “Yes.”

Philip looked almost disappointed as he nodded. “Okay.”

From there, the children turned back to the unpaused movie and Alexander rushed to the bedroom he shared with Eliza.

Entering without a knock, Alexander found Eliza sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone. Her eyes were red and puffed from tears, but she looked to be a bit more settled. Her hair that was previously tied back in a ponytail was loose and rolling over her shoulders, reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. For pajamas, an oversized t-shirt draped her torso and compression shorts clung to her bottom half. She looked at peace. Alexander hated to ruin that moment for her, but they needed to talk, especially about Philip’s questions.

Eliza noticed Alexander when he walked closer to the bed. She sat her phone aside, crossing her arms in a bout of what looked like self-consciousness. Her cheeks flushed a rose-petal pink, her gray eyes turning down.

“You barely gave me any time to think,” she whispered.

“It’s not about that,” Alexander said, urgency in his voice as he stripped into nothing but his boxers. Stepping into pajama pants, he waddled towards Eliza and took a seat. After pulling them on, he turned towards her. “It’s about Philip and science class.”

All Eliza could do was cock a brow. “Okay?”

“I think…” Alexander inhaled. Counted to ten. Exhaled. “I think he knows that I’m not his biological father.”

A few tears rolled down Eliza’s cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. Alexander took her into his side. “We were supposed to tell him. He wasn’t supposed to _find out_.”

“I know,” Alexander whispered, feeling just as empty as he was sure Eliza felt. “I don’t… know if I’m ready to talk about that yet.”

Suddenly, a spark ran through Alexander, an electric shock as Eliza took his hand. She gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We have to. Soon.”

“We?” Alexander looked over at Eliza, a glimmer of hope twinkling in his eyes.

Eliza sheepishly smiled without baring her teeth.

The two sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence for around ten minutes. Eliza’s head found its way in the crook of Alexander’s neck. His hand took residence on his wife’s thigh. She rubbed circles into the back of her husband’s hand with her thumb in an attempt to comfort him. For once in a very long time, their marriage felt _normal_.

“I thought about it,” Eliza said after a long, blissful while.

“And?” Alexander turned to her, trying to manage a neutral expression while he was internally panicking.

“I think… as long as you promise to make us your main priority, this will do. I will have the baby, we can raise it, love it, embrace—”

“ _It_?” Alexander said, hoping he didn’t sound harsh.

The words couldn’t seem to leave Eliza’s mouth as she tried to choke them out. Tears formed in her eyes, yet again, and rolled down her full cheeks as she mustered out a, “I just don’t feel… attached.”

Nothing would change that feeling, Alexander knew, and she couldn’t help it. But then and there, he made a promise with himself to be there for Eliza, no matter what choice she made or road she took. For better or for worse, right?

It wasn’t late, but Alexander was exhausted. The day was exhausting. It ran the length of a week, it felt like. Maybe the exhaustion was wearing on him. Walking to his side of the bed, he laid down. His eyes fell on Eliza’s hair in its shiny, ashen glory. He reached up, rolling a tendril around his finger. She looked back, a hint of blush tinting her cheeks.

“We have about fifteen minutes until the kids join us,” Alexander informed her, eyes beckoning her for a cuddle.

Surprisingly, she obliged after a minute of hesitation. She allowed him to press his chest to her back, wrapping his arms around her torso. He placed two, stumpy hands on her belly. There was a moment of bliss, laying there. It had been years since they cuddled _together._

“Why did you pick Thomas Jefferson up?” Eliza asked suddenly, as if the idea just popped into her head. “Don’t you two hate each other?” Eliza craned her neck just to look at him.

_How to tell a half truth_ , Alexander thought, blinking a couple of times.

“I… don’t hate him anymore, actually,” he said after a moment of thought. “Last night really let me know who he is. He has layers, lots of layers. I… think I saw him at his worst and it made me realize that he’s not a bad man, per se. He sure can put on a bad boy performance, but really, he’s hiding.”

“You got all of that from picking the guy from a nightclub?”

“ _The_ nightclub.”

Eliza sighed.

“I know.”

Turning back around, she rested her head against his chest.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

And Alexander asked, “Why?”

“This.” She pulled herself out of his arms and sat up, looking down at him. “I’m afraid it’s going to go away, or I’m going to have some breakdown, or… I don’t know. You’re back, right? Like, really, _truly_ , back?” Eliza laughed in spite of herself. “I don’t know why I’m being so trusting…”

“I’m back,” Alexander assured not only Eliza, but himself. He pushed the fact that Thomas was his soulmate out of the picture. In this  lavish townhome lived his family, his only family, and it was going to stay that way.

“Often times, things are too good to be true,” Eliza said, sadly, as she sunk back down. Without a word, she rolled back into his arms and pressed her back to his chest. “I’m still scared.”

Alexander was too, but he wouldn’t admit it, no. Instead, her placed his hands on her stomach and closed his eyes, praying for the underlying thoughts of Thomas to go away.


End file.
